


We Could Have Been Gods

by thesilentzed



Series: Racing Towards Heaven [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bad Boy Louis, Bad Parenting, Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, Dry Humping, First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M, Neglectful Parents, Phone Sex, Rimming, Rock Star Louis, Sibling Bonding, Writer Harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-15
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-04-20 21:41:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 31,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4803215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesilentzed/pseuds/thesilentzed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Harry Styles is a shooting star. He’s an 11:11 wish come true. He’s my thank you from the universe for forwarding all those chain emails in 2004.”</p><p>Harry Styles is a lot of things to Louis and Louis is a lot of things to him as well. The one thing neither of them expects to be is the other’s first heartbreak. But they’re young and their lives aren’t yet their own… and sometimes keeping a promise isn’t as easy it should be.</p><p>(Or the highschool au where no one actually goes to school, Harry wants to be a famous writer, Louis is his aspiring rockstar boyfriend/muse, and they try their very best to make it all work. Side Ziam.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

When you have a winter birthday everyone expects you to love winter but I've always hated it. It's a shit season and no amount of festivites can atone for the amount of crap that we all have to put up with for the five or so months that it lasts. Between blizzards, shovelling, car engines freezing, cars getting stuck, slipping on ice (the list literally never ends), it's pretty much impossible for winter to be any more shit than it normally is. It's natural state is _that_ abysmal. Yet, against all odds, this winter is shaping up to be The Little Winter That Could and is desperately attempting to gain status as the worst winter in the history of the eighteen years that I've been alive.

The ice whips against my face, reminding me why I hate all things winter so much, and provides a stark contrast to the warm stinging at my eyes that I'm doing my very best to ignore. No point getting soppy or sentimental. It's not like throwing a melodramatic fit will actually change anything. Harry missed that memo evidently, I think as I look at his snotty face and red-rimmed eyes.

"Lou," he says on a break that hits too close to my heart for comfort and I wish the wind had carried his voice away. "I'll write you okay? Every day."

He sounds so sure of himself and I clench my jaw. He can write as often as he wants. The letters won't reach me. I duck my head, burying my chin in the heavy scarf I threw around my neck on my way out of the house. My hands are stuffed into the pockets of my leather coat and I know Harry wants to say something about my inappropriate apparel given the fucking blizzard swirling around us but he doesn't. Smart lad.

"Great," I say tersely - ironically, "I'll compile it into a book and make millions." Which would be fitting considering Harry's convinced he'll be the next name to sweep the New York Times Bestseller List. And who knows, maybe he will.

Harry huffs out an angry breath and blinks furiously. Tears are freezing on the tips of his lashes and my fingers twitch with the urge to reach out and shake him. Tell him that his sentiments are useless and pathetic. He can cry all he wants. He'll still be on a plane out of this mess of a city once the storm clears.

Instead I pull a cigarette from the breast pocket of my coat and fumble with my lighter with shaking hands. Lighting a cigarette in the middle of an ice storm is no easy task. Luckily I'm a chain smoker so I manage pretty quickly. I inhale and pretend the lump in my throat is imaginary.

"Don't be an ass," Harry scolds, starting to shiver - calling me out like he always has when I take my moods out on him. He looks like a fucking eskimo in his thick parka - fur-lined hood pulled over his head - and I wonder how he can be shivering when I'm struggling to feel anything.

I roll my eyes. "Fine. Then I won't say anything."

Harry snaps.

"You know I don't have a choice!" he yells raggedly, reaching out and shoving me roughly - breaking. Boy, do his tears come now. I stumble backwards and give him no emotion, not even a blink. This doesn't hurt, I remind myself as he comes at me again, still furious, and I know all he wants is a reaction - some trace of the passion that sparked up so quickly - burned bright and long.

But fires don't last forever. And I've got nothing to give him but ashes.

He pushes me again, harder this time, and I almost slip on the slick ice covering the driveway. Vans aren't the most practical winter footwear but I manage to find my balance before I wipe out, catching sight of his father coming out the front door. Their driver finishes loading the last of the suitcases into the limo pulled up in front of their house and slams the trunk shut. The storm swallows the sound.

Harry's father is stature and grace and power and elegance all at once. His fitted wool trench probably protects him from the weather about as effectively as my leather jacket does but neither of us intended to spend any great deal of time outside. He looks over the top of the limo at Harry and I, lips pursing when he sees me watching him.

"It's time to go, Harry," he orders over the howling wind and I take another step away from Harry.

"Have a safe flight," I say impassively and turn away but Harry's on me in a heartbeat, anger suddenly gone and replaced with the sticky persistence of desperation.

"No, Louis please," he cries - really cries - as he wraps around me, locking my arms against my sides. His damp cheek rests against my shoulder and I feel him shuddering - shivering - whatever. "I'm not letting us leave it like this."

I tense and am so happy he can't see my face - can't see my eyes and figure me out.

"How would you like me to leave it then?" I demand acerbically, "In a smiley tearful hug like we're gonna come together in three years as if this didn't happen?" _As if you aren't breaking my fucking heart_. "This isn't The fucking Notebook."

"I don't know--"

"No, Harry," I grit out, staring forward resolutely at the swirling winter wonderland but no - I have to look at him. I twist in his vice-like grip and he lets me and when I'm fully around and able to see him his tears are like a punch to the gut.

"Louis can you please just--"

"I'm not some fucking leading man in your novel that's going to act exactly the way your stupid little fantasies want!" I snap and he flinches. "Jesus, get out of your head, Haz! We are not star-crossed fucking lovers and this isn't some test from the Gods to see if we get to be immortalized. We are not your characters. _You_ can leave however you want, Haz," I spit. "But _I'm_ leaving like this and I don't give a shit if it's not how you pictured me."

His arms drop, releasing me from his bear hug and as he steps away - leaves my body wracking through a long trembling shiver - I realize how warm he was when he was wrapped around me. And doesn't that just sum up our entire relationship in a single statement. 

_I was warm when he was wrapped around me._

I drop my barely touched cigarette and stomp it out. There must be some sort of poetic irony in my leaving a cigarette on Harry's driveway when he spent the entirety of our relationship hounding me to stop smoking.

"Have a safe flight, Harry," I say and toss a wave over my shoulder as I turn around, not looking back when I hear his wet and ragged breathing. There's nothing left to look at. He made his choice - made the choice for both of us really. My legs feel like blocks of ice as they carry me away one step at a time until I'm in my car, heat blasting against my face, turning the crystals clinging to my scarf into little droplets.

I allow myself one quick moment to be upset and that's it. I look at the time on my dash as the wetness wells in my eyes, as my throat closes up and a sob rushes past my lips. 

_"Will it hurt?"_

_"Yeah, it hurts for a minute but then it gets so good that the pain is worth it."_

What a fucking load of shit. 

The pain is never worth it, I think as my heart seizes around the memory of waking up in the middle of the night after that first time to find him scribbling away in his notebook - too inspired (by _me_ ) to sleep.

_"We could be Gods, Lou," he whispered in amazement, stars dancing in his eyes through the mussed up fringe clinging to his face._

_"Sure, Haz," I mumbled, still half asleep, "Just let me prepare our thrones in the sky."_

I clench my eyes shut and press the heels of my hands against them, pressing out the last of my tears. I can't do this.

Trembling, I shift my car into gear and head home, wipers beating a frantic pace across my windshield. By the time I reach my new complex the lump in my throat is gone and my eyes are dry. The lobby is dingy and smells like an unpleasant mixture of fish and curry. I look at my scratched up mailbox and feel a quick sting over the letters that will pile up in my old one, at the apartment where a happier me's memories have been scrubbed clean or packed away in bubblewrap and boxes. When I throw open my door and Lottie asks me if I'm okay I'm able to smile and ask her why I wouldn't be and almost mean it.

"What about Harry?" she insists as I make my way through the maze of unpacked boxes to throw myself on the couch, eyes snagging on the open newspaper on the table. A picture of Haz and I stares back at me and I sit up, slamming the paper over before smiling saccharinely at my dear little sister.

"Fuck Harry," I tell her with false sweetness and lay back down, wrapping my hands around Max when he jumps on my chest and headbutts my chin, purring. I stuff bravado and anger and hurt into the gaping hole of what ifs and could ofs and should ofs and didn'ts and maybes and whys that Harry's left behind for me. I stuff the empty cavern of wasted possibilities full of anything but love and seal it up tight as I realize he was right all along.

We _could_ have been Gods.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prologue of this beast of a series I've started! I'm about halfway through this fic and have the second fic planned out. Sorry the prologue is so angsty. We'll go back to the start in the next chapter and things will be much happier! :) This whole fic is based off a song I wrote and this chapter in particular has a bunch of refs to it. I'll maybe post it at some point if people are interested. I'm also gonna post the songs I listened to while writing each scene in the coming chapters. 
> 
> Oh, and if anyone has time I'm looking for a beta! If you're interested just drop a comment or hit me up on my tumblr naturallypxnk. Thanks for reading and I hope you stick around for the coming chapters!


	2. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs I listened to while writing this chapter in order:
> 
> Girls and Boys in Love - The Rumble Strips  
> Lazy Gun - Jet  
> Leather Jacket - Arkells  
> Safety in Numbers - We Were Promised Jetpacks
> 
> I would suggest blasting them on repeat during the scenes I post them for because that's what I did while writing! Hope throughout this that you find a new fave song or two :)

_Girls and Boys in Love - The Rumble Strips_

"Yo, fluffball, move it or lose it."

The comment is accompanied by a hard shove that sends me flying into the lockers and-- okay. I probably deserved that, I think as I take stock of the mess of books at my feet. Pausing in the middle of the hall in highschool basically guarantees some degree of shoving. I don't bother looking at my assailant, deciding I'd rather not place a face to the action in case we end up hitting it off later. It's harder to hold a grudge when you don't know who you're meant to be holding it against.

Dropping to a crouch, I quickly pile up my books - still shiny and crisp and unused - until I reach the last one: my emerald green writing notebook. This one is worn - loose papers stuffed between the dogeared scribbles full of frantic ideas. I quickly flip through it, making sure that no pages have fallen out before closing it with a breath of relief and tossing it on top of the pile. I've been struggling enough to figure out what my main character's love interest will be like; I don't need to lose a page of notes on my main character and set him back as well.

"Wander often wonder always." A voice above me reads the gold embossed lettering on the cover of the notebook and I look up, startled. I collect the small pile of texts and stand, coming face to face with the girl. She's a bit shorter than me, is dressed casually in denim overalls and an oversized tee, and smells exceptionally floral-y. 

"You can read," I observe in an attempt to be funny, though I'm not all that shattered when the joke seems to fall flat. My humour's always been a bit specific. The girl blinks at me - heavily mascara'd lashes kissing her cheeks - and suddenly lets out a loud "ha!" that takes me by surprise.

"It _is_ 2015\. Women can read," she informs me with a playful smirk and it strikes me that she's what most boys would consider beautiful with her long platinum blonde hair, plumped and frosted lips, and wide grey eyes. It's a bit unfortunate that I'm not most boys. Which is why I'm hoping she'll move on to the gaggle of friends she indefinitely has so that I can find my locker in time for first period. Starting at a new school at the end of month one is already an awkward first impression to make on a teacher and class and I'd rather not be "the tardy one" in addition to "the new kid".

So I nod my head awkwardly, lips pressed into an unassuming smile, and hope she'll get the point and move on. 

She doesn't.

"So you're new here," she observes and I'm starting to think she likes to voice obvious statements in place of creating actual conversation. 

"Yup." I nod again, being a rather poor conversationalist myself, and my nod turns into an uncomfortable head bob that just keeps going. She doesn't move, just stares at me with a polite smile.

I stare back - still bobbing my head and hoping she'll move along and the moment is beyond uncomfortable at this point. I peek around her, hoping to see someone I can speak to instead of her and just sort of freeze as an actual Greek God rounds the corner. Where is my slow-mo and why is there not a cheesy 80s ballad blasting through the PA system?

My heart stutters and I have to consciously make sure I don't lick my lips. He has a hooded naturally sultry gaze hidden under a messy fringe of brown hair, a nose and jawline carved from marble, and thin lips wrapped in stubble. I want to rip my phone out of my pocket and snap a picture of him so I can have a long and creative wank to it later. I also want to lick along his jawline. 

Something about him tells me that neither of those things would be go over well. It's the way he carries himself, I decide (as if those would be appropriate social interactions with any other stranger). He's gorgeous and he knows it. His lifted chin and aloof expression say it. His ripped black skinnies and faded denim jacket say it. The two equally gorgeous boys flanking him on either side say it.

I realize with a giddy rush that has my hand twitching and my mind racing that he is the character my novel's been lacking.

His eyes sweep the hall like radars, passing over everyone as if they don't deserve to be blips. But then his gaze scans over me and backtracks. It's electric when we make eye contact and I force myself to stand straighter, to feel cooler in my simple green trousers and grey Obey jumper. Before I can think it over my hands are in my hair, tossing it out then smoothing it down and to the side and I cringe as I realize I've drawn his attention to the uncooperative mass of fluff and curls on my head.

He smirks at me coolly and even though the arrogance of his expression makes my blood boil and my cheeks heat, I find myself smiling back crookedly. He says something to his friend and then he's done looking at me and I don't dare to hope for a second glance. 

He disappears down another hall with his friends in tow and I'm already planning our next run in in my head. (I may also be planning our wedding but who can blame me?) My mind is rushing. I have to hear him speak. I have to know every nuance of his voice and I have to see how his eyes sparkle when he's happy. I need to write him but I can't start until I know I'll do it right.

"He's gay too," a voice says flippantly and I remember with a jolt that the girl I was just in the process of trying to ditch is still standing in front of me. She's inspecting her lilac manicured nails and glances at me over the tips, lips peeking into a mischievous smile.

"Excuse me?" I ask, frantically wondering if I heard her correctly. She did not just confirm for me that the most perfect human being I have ever seen in my life is gay. 

...

She did not just tell me that she knows I'm gay.

"The guy you were just making googly eyes at," (I squawk indignantly at the accusation) "Louis. He's into dudes," she clarifies dismissively and my stomach lurches as she tells me his name. He looks like a Louis I decide instantly and she probably could have told me his name is Drew and I would have gone along with it as if it totally made sense that a guy that aloof and hot and flawless could possibly be named Drew.

Then the second part of her statement makes it's way through my mental filter and a rush of emotions I'm not sure I can put a name to overcome me. 

"How do you know I'm..." I trail off, lips sticking on the word because I've never said it out loud. Especially not after the word "I'm". I mean, it's not that I'm _closeted_... It's just that I've never actually made a point of coming out. I've never had to with the people that mattered.

The girl raises an eyebrow at me, sceptical. "Are you for real, right now?" she asks and even though I am, she decides that I'm not and continues, "I could introduce you if you'd like."

"Really? Yeah, I would!" I exclaim way too eagerly. All right, Styles. Backtrack... "I mean, yeah, that would be cool if--"

"Oh my god, shut up," she laughs and I listen to her, snapping my mouth shut and blushing brightly. "I'll talk to him later and put in a good word, all right?"

"Yeah, okay," I say hesitantly. "But how do you know him?" I ask a bit stupidly and she gives me this cool hooded look that seems vaguely familiar.

"Because he's my brother."

\---

_Lazy Gun - Jet_

Unfortunately, due to my sort of not quite run in with Louis: The Love of My Life ™ and the ensuing conversation with his younger sister Lottie, I am late for first period and become The Tardy One in addition to being The New Kid. I glance at my watch, panicked. I'm like fifteen minutes late. When I finally find the room, the teacher is in the middle of reading a novel to the class. Which is a blessing in disguise, I decide as I scope out the situation.

I'm hoping I'll be able to quietly sneak in through the open door and find an empty seat at the back but that plan is pretty much shot to shit the second I'm past the threshold and realize the only open seat is front and centre.

What happened to alphabetically ordering the seating arrangement? The Styles name was always a guaranteed good seat near the back with that method. 

All right, I think, trying to stay calm, this is just a bit of a bump in the road. I can still make it into the desk directly in front of the teacher without catching his attention as long as I'm stealthy. It will require CIA levels of stealth but I've never been one to turn down a challenge.

I'm not sure why I don't just knock politely on the door frame and apologize for being late like a normal human being. I chalk it up to my inherent quirkiness and take a breath, steeling myself for the inevitable embarrassment I'll face if I botch this. Confident in my abilities, I make an effort to squeeze into the seat directly in front of the teacher unnoticed. 

Despite a flawless execution, I fail.

Miserably.

"Oy! Down in front!" a voice pipes up from the back just as I'm about to successfully slide into the desk and I whip around to give whoever just called that out a nasty glare and--

Oh.

Louis.

My cheeks flame and I fight to not look like a replica of the heart eye emoji, managing to follow through with that nasty glare as the class erupts into quiet sniggers and giggles. 

"Tomlinson, what have I--" the teacher starts but cuts off when he sees me standing directly in front of him, frozen like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. I smile weakly.

"Hi, sorry. I'm new," I say dumbly and momentarily hate the deep languid way my words always seem to come out. "I'm Harry Styles."

My eyes widen the tiniest fraction, silently pleading with him to let me off the hook. And he does. Sort of.

"Right, that's awesome!" he enthuses and I realize he's a Cool Teacher. I can work with this. "We were wondering where you were, Mr. Styles."

The deafening silence from the class leads me to believe that actually no one was wondering where I was. How awkward.

"Yeah, sorry. Having a bit of trouble finding my way around," I confess with a small shrug and my signature lopsided grin that has always succeeded in getting me out of trouble. "I'll just take a seat and let you get back to it." I drop my books onto the desk and plop into the seat, blinking up at him expectantly when he doesn't begin reading again.

"I hear ya," he says conspiratorially, "It's H-A-R-D finding your way around a new school and making new friends. I got your back though, bud." He smiles winningly and I try not to let my face show how perplexed I am by him. Who the heck _is_ this guy? Mr. Rosso from Freaks and Geeks?

"Horan," he calls out and a startled voice from the back of the room responds.

"Yeah, Mr. Patts?"

"You up for playing tour guide today?"

I turn around and see that Mr. Patts is speaking with a blond fellow... One of Louis' friends from earlier. My stomach twists and I can't tell if its anticipation or anxiety. Probably a mix of both. When I look at Louis I find that he's staring back at me. He looks amazing, lounging in his chair with his feet kicked up and crossed on his desk. His expression tells me nothing but he's looking at me - studying me - and I figure that has to count for something.

I dare a tiny smirk at him before I turn back to the front of the room. Patts and Niall "bro it up" for a while longer before Patts finally returns to the novel.

I feel Louis' stare on the back of my head for the remainder of the period.

\---

_Leather Jacket - Arkells_

Louis ditches Niall when the bell rings and I don't blame him. Who wants to get stuck "playing tour guide" for the new kid? I'm slightly mortified that someone's _actually_ been forced into the position.

But it seems that Niall gives absolutely no shits. In fact, he actually seems to be enjoying himself. He looks up from my time table with a goofy grin.

"We've got all but last period together, mate," he tells me brightly as he pushes the paper back into my hands and I croak out a half-hearted "Oh great". He slings his arm around my shoulder and begins guiding me down the hall.

"So, Harry Styles, right?" I nod. "Where ya from and why ya here _now_? You know school only started a month ago, right?" he asks with a teasing laugh and the lack of preamble takes me by surprise. 

"Um, I'm from Montreal and I'm here because my dad had to move for work," I reply with a forced smile. 

It's not a lie but it isn't the truth either. We moved because I put my dad's sterling reputation in danger but I'm not about to admit that to a complete stranger. He doesn't even think to press for details and I'm thankful for his simple cheeriness.

He's too taken with the fact that I'm from Montreal.

"Quebec, hey?" he enthuses. "So do you think in French?" he wants to know and I give him an odd look.

"...no?" I answer when I realize it was a genuine question. "My family's all English speaking and I went to an English school so..."

That seems to be extremely disappointing to Niall and I discover that he was hoping I could teach him how to say a bunch of crude and ridiculous things in French. 

I remind him that google translate exists but he laments that it just isn't the same.

We make our way through the next two periods with no Louis run ins, which I suppose isn't a bad thing. It turns out that he's a senior but he failed English last year so he's stuck with the juniors for that particular class. After that I don't bring Louis up again, instead letting Niall talk about himself and I end up learning a lot about him. For starters, he knows literally everyone. He also will laugh at anything. Even if it's not intended to be funny. He has all the teachers charmed. Even our prehistoric third period biology teacher _Dr_ ("Don't call me "Mrs". I didn't get a doctorate so teenagers can call me _Mrs_.") Sullivan. She's a surly old woman with absolutely no laugh lines - a very telling feature, I think - and despite the fact that Niall chatted through the entire class he got away with nothing more than a fond "Mr. Horan. Shut your trap, please."

He loves sports and wants to work for TSN one day, he plays golf a lot for someone under the age of fifty, and also plays guitar and sings in a band called One Direction (it sounds a bit cheesy but I decide to withhold any judgements until I've heard them) with Louis, their friend Liam, and Liam's boyfriend Zayn, who goes to another school but is "wicked cool. You'll love him." By the time lunch period rolls around I've decided that I could have been stuck with worse people than Niall.

"So Lou, Liam, and I usually ditch for lunch and go grab a bite at the mall. You can come if you want?" Niall offers when the bell rings and we're packing up our biology texts, ignoring Dr. Sullivan's yelled reminder to study for the quiz tomorrow. I tense before remembering that she said I don't have to worry about it. Thank God.

"Maybe another time," I suggest, feeling a bit uncomfortable at the idea of being Niall's tagalong friend. I wouldn't be surprised to find out that Niall tries to bring a lot of strays into the group. He's completely the sort to do that and I'm... Let's just say I'm not willing to be a charity case, especially with Louis' group. I'll wait for Lottie's introduction.

We part ways with a fist bump initiated by Niall and, after retrieving my lunch from my locker, I make my way to the cafeteria, which is easy enough to find. It's pretty much a matter of following my nose and ears - teenage body odour and gossip are hard to miss. I approach the large room filled with people and tables and am prepared to find a seat by myself when a familiar floral smell overtakes me and an arm loops through mine.

"Harry," Lottie greets brightly. "How is my new favourite friend?" she asks and doesn't even see if I want to sit with her - just directs me to the table full of her friends and shoves me onto the bench, pushing me over with her hips as she slides in after me.

"Guys, this is Harry. Harry this is guys," she announces and I wave halfheartedly at the assortment of faces around the table - a mixture of boys and girls.

"Oh, hey. It's fluffball," the boy across from Lottie observes, fixing me with a lazy gaze. "Sorry about that, hey?"

Blushing, I immediately shake out my fringe and push it to the side, the nickname reminding me that it's probably gotten out of control since I last smoothed it down. I acknowledge the apology with a weak smile and a "Don't worry about it." 

Neither of us expand on the incident when Lottie demands to know what happened.

It turns out that the guy's name is Justin and he's Lottie's senior year boyfriend. ("Isn't he like a fifteen out of ten?" she whispers in my ear between platitudes of adoration directed at Justin.)

The group - aside from Lottie - generally ignores me and I'm honestly all right with that. The whole day has been a bit overwhelming and my mind is still buzzing with thoughts for my novel. I pull out my notebook and sort through those thoughts, scribbling down notes and picking at my meal. I need to find a way to fit Louis' character into the world and figure out how the story is going to change to mould around him.

When the bell signalling the end of lunch rings, I realize that I'm the only person at the table that hasn't finished and packed away their meal already. Lottie offers to hang back with me and help me find my next class but I assure her that I'll be fine. She leaves me a with a sticky kiss on the cheek and I make it through the remainder of the day in one piece.

\---

_Safety in Numbers - We Were Promised Jetpacks_

I spin around on the bar stool at the island and watch as Ida, our maid/nanny bustles about preparing dinner. She's a short old woman that's all bosom and bottom with a weathered face like worn leather that's framed by grey frizz. She gives the greatest hugs and makes the best food ever. Tonight it's homemade pizza.

"She out with new friends?" Ida asks in her thick Russian accent, referring to Gemma, and looks up from kneading the pizza dough with a raised brow. I push my feet against the island, launching myself into another round of spins - taking the time to avoid her gaze and wipe the disappointment off my face.

It's not like I actually expected Gemma to be home tonight - she's the sort that makes fast and hard friends and is in high demand. Still, I had hoped to see her sometime before supper. But Gem is exactly like our mother from her face down to her dry humour that pulls people in like a magnet.

They both always tell me I got that magnetism as well but the reality is I got her quirks - the penchant for off jokes that most people don't get, a view of the world from a different angle, an almost manic obsession with the things that I'm passionate about...

That I for sure got from her.

When the chair stops spinning I've pasted on a high quality cheeky grin capable of fooling even Ida. "It's Gem, Ida. Of course she's out with friends. She's got half the school wrapped around her finger already."

"By the end of week she'll have _whole_ school on finger," Ida tells me with a firm nod, poking her finger at me. "And what about you? Any friends?" she asks as she returns to the pizza dough and even though her eyes aren't on me, I've lived with Ida long enough (my whole life actually) to know that she is still watching me so I'm careful to keep a light, Ida-proof expression on my face.

I was prepared for the question but I'm still not sure how to answer. "Sort of, I guess?" I tell her slowly. "I met some people that I think I could be really good friends with." My mind wanders to Niall and Lottie and the way they both want to draw me into the fold of their groups. 

Then there's Louis, the person I really want to be friends with. My heart speeds up at the simple thought of being just his friend.

"Someone special too?" Ida asks and I remember that I'm sitting in front of her and want to smack myself. Ida can read minds and I always forget that.

Well. She can't read just anyone's mind but she's got Gem and I figured out on some KGB level of accuracy. When I was 12 I asked her if she was ex-KGB and she smacked her hand over my mouth and whispered in my ear that little boys shouldn't speak of things they don't understand. It creeped me right out and I didn't sleep through the night for a month because I was terrified that the Russians would come steal me from my bed in the middle of the night now that I knew their secret.

The fear passed... mostly... I still jolt every time I'm in public and I hear someone speak with a Russian accent.

Even to this day I'm not sure if she was having a joke at my expense or if she was actually serious. It's probably for the best that I don't know.

"Harry," Ida barks, smacking my hand with a towel and drawing me back to her with a startled squeak.

"What?" I yelp, pulling my hand to my chest with an affronted pout and trying to figure out what on Earth she wants and-- oh, right. My love life. I blush and watch as that knowing smile creeps over Ida's face. 

"She is beautiful?" she asks impishly and... that's the one thing Ida hasn't figured out.

I think of Louis and find myself smiling softly as I draw up an image of his face. "Yeah," I breathe, scrunching up my nose with unconcealed fondness as I meet Ida's eyes, "The most beautiful person I've ever seen." 

And I almost think Ida has caught onto the pronoun game I'm constantly playing with her but then she places her cool chapped hands over mine and offers me a warm wrinkled smile.

"She would be lucky to have boy like you," she tells me with a confident nod before clapping my cheek twice and pushing me off the barstool. "Now go wash up and do homework. I don't need you in my kitchen."

I listen because disobeying Ida has not once worked out for me in my life. My socked feet somehow echo in the halls of our house and as I make my way to my bedroom I take stock of the bare walls and empty rooms. We live in a gated community in a veritable mansion in probably the coldest house in a string of lifeless homes. As I round the corner to my room I think of my mom, halfway across the world digging up treasure in Egypt. Then I think of my father, halfway across the city making his millions defending corporations that shouldn't be defended before coming back to the house for a glass of scotch and a night of conference calls and maybe an evening out with his dainty girlfriend.

I think of those things as I collapse on my bed in my room full of things in my mansion full of pleasantries. I may live in a house but I still haven't found a home.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there we have it. The obligatory first day of school chapter is out of the way! Hope you enjoyed it a bit! I promise that next chapter brings in some excitement. Thanks for reading and thank you to the people that commented on the last chapter! I really really appreciate it :)
> 
> Again, feel free to hmu on my tumblr naturallypxnk or leave a comment! I'm in the market for a beta as well if anyone's interested.


	3. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs for this chapter:  
> Generation Handclap - The Library Voices  
> Heavy Scene - Meg Lee Chin  
> Favourite Colour - Tokyo Police Club  
> Mother - Said the Whale
> 
> (3/4 are phenomenal Canadian bands :)!)
> 
> Just a head's up that the boys get a bit down and dirty in this chapter. I know y'all are like "SO SOOON?" but it just sort of happened - for them and for me as the person with the plan on how chapters are supposed to go lol

_Generation Handclap - The Library Voices_

_Clearly it can be assumed that the purposeef_ \-- Oh for fuck's sake. I punch at the backspace as if it's responsible for the typo and stare at the elegantly scrawled handwriting I'm transcribing into a word document. Somehow moving out of my parents' house to _get away from_ the never ending barrage of sisters has resulted in me typing out my sister's first essay of the school year for her. Because apparently she can't type as fast as me, and her laptop has been broken since July ("Don't you remember, Louis? God!"), and Fizzy's being a "preteen bitch" that refuses to share anything with Lottie.

"I wouldn't share with you either if I was Fiz," I tell Lottie irritably, "What's to say you're not gonna break her laptop too?" I start tapping away at my keyboard again, trying to concentrate.

"Oh fuck off, Louis. You never took care of your crap either," she shoots back, throwing a stack of post-it notes at my head. Luckily her aim is about as good as her spelling, I think as I easily dodge the flying fluorescent missile and screw my eyes up at her paper, leaning in close and trying to figure out what on earth she meant to spell. Earlier I had spent a good five minutes puzzling out that "firstable" was meant to be "first of all" (and another five minutes laughing my ass off and teasing Lottie mercilessly).

"What the hell is an _um beyonce_?" I demand, twisting in my computer chair to throw her a very judgemental and puzzled look.

"What," Lottie says, "are you even _saying_?"

Oh that's rich. Act like I'm the idiot.

"You tell me. You're the one that wrote it," I snap as she jumps off of the counter dividing the living room and kitchen and saunters over to glance past my shoulder at her essay. I tap my finger against the word on the page as I repeat it. " _Um Beyonce_."

There's a moment of silence as Lottie practically goes cross-eyed, leaning in to the paper and trying to figure out if she did in fact write "um beyonce" in the middle of an essay about bumble bees. Finally she straightens and smacks my shoulder.

"It's ambience, dumbass."

I look at the word on the page then at Lottie.

"Nooooo," I say in a high-pitched tone that says "I am not buying your bullshit", "Pretty sure it says um beyonce."

Her cheeks redden and she crosses her arms over her chest. "Well I _meant_ ambience. Sor _ry_ I'm not a massive nerd."

I pause in the middle of properly spelling ambience to raise an incredulous eyebrow at her.

"You're for real trying to call me a nerd right now?" I ask her as I sit in my distressed diesel jeans and gucci leather jacket, and type on my macbook pro that is _not_ broken and is in my apartment that I'm living in on my own while in my senior year. I'm prepared to recite that exact list to prove that I am in fact _not_ a nerd when Lottie lets out a frustrated huff and sits her butt on the edge of my desk.

"No," she sighs, "But you _are_ an asshole."

...

That I can live with.

I return my focus to her (poorly written) essay on the dances bumble bees use to communicate - and apparently create _ambience_ \- and am halfway through a sentence uninterrupted (a record) when Lottie says my name.

"Lottie," I bite, smacking my hands on the desk. "Do you want me to finish this? Because I'm kicking you out at 4:30 whether it's done or not," I threaten and vaguely cringe at the fact that I sound like a halfway decent parent. I definitely don't come by that one naturally.

"I was just going to tell you about the new guy at school, _God_ ," she says in full on teenage girl mode. I'm tempted to snap at her "Don't you _God_ me, kid," but hold it back. I've done enough faux parenting for one afternoon thank you very much.

"What about him?" I say instead, giving up on the essay and lounging back in my chair. A slow smile creeps over Lottie's face and alarm bells start going off in my head.

"I don't know he's just way cute, don't you think?" she asks oh so rhetorically and I stare at her suspiciously, deciding to take a stab in the dark.

"You mean that Styles, kid?" 

She lights up like a slot machine. DING DING DING WE HAVE A WINNER!

"Yeah, Harry!" she tells me, suddenly 10,000 watts of excitement. "You noticed him, huh?"

I roll my eyes at the insinuation. "He's sort of hard to miss with all that hair, don't you think?"

"So you like his gorgeous hair," she infers and I'm about to tell her that no I do not like his luscious chestnut locks that shine beautifully under the school's fluorescent lighting when I realize that I actually _do_ like his gorgeous hair. Shit.

"I've seen worse." I shrug and cross my arms over my chest, feigning nonchalance as I recall why the Styles kid had looked familiar when I had seen him in first period - I'd seen him earlier that morning in the hall talking to Lottie. Funnily enough, it hadn't been his mess of curls that had drawn my attention, it had been the company he'd been keeping.

"Whatever, Louis," Lottie dismisses, pulling a face at me that I mirror back instantaneously. "He's totally your type. Super quirky, kind of quiet, a bit awkward, so nice it's _painful_ but in a good way... and _super_ gorgeous. I mean, he has _dimples_."

She looks at me like I should be begging her for his phone number.

"Oh and he's gay," she adds as if I hadn't been able to parse that information from her embarrassingly obvious matchmaking attempt.

"You don't say," I drone, not buying into it. Lottie's a peach but she's not the sort of peach you trust. She's a peach with a hidden agenda at all times and-- My eyes drop to the essay I've been working my ass off to type up. Motherfucker, that little minx!

"Dad got you a new laptop as a back to school present!" I abruptly accuse, picking up her essay and throwing it at her.

She makes no effort to catch any of the scattered papers as they slowly flit to the floor.

"Yeah, I already typed it out," she tells me with a vampish grin. "Thanks for the um beyonce thing though. Spellcheck didn't catch that one. Just capitalized Beyoncé and made the e all fancy. She's in the dictionary, Louis. Doesn't that make your gay heart sing with joy?"

...

How am I even related to this girl?

"Sure, Lottie. My heart is alive with the sound of music," I announce in monotone, not even trying to do Julie Andrews justice and definitely not playing along with Lottie's attempt at a joke.

"Right," she says, catching the hint and finally getting to the point. "So I basically promised Harry that I would hook you two up and because he's my new friend and I'd like the beginning of our friendship to _not_ be littered with broken promises you're going to agree to it, okay?"

I glance at the clock then at Lottie.

"Deal. Now get out. It's 4:30," I tell her with a chipper grin. "Love you lots, sis. Please don't come back any time soon."

As I shove Lottie out the door and slam it behind her she yells, "Okay but you have to be _nice_! Like "Hello my name is--""

\---

_Heavy Scene - Meg Lee Chin_

"Louis Tomlinson and I am just pleased as punch to meet you." I grin at the Styles kid and hold out my hand to him. He takes it very hesitantly and his handshake is pathetically weak. I could've sworn his father was a big shot lawyer - the type of man that would ensure his son learn how to properly shake a hand.

With the introduction out of the way I look to Lottie for approval that I know won't be there and am glad to see that she is as annoyed with me as I was hoping she'd be.

"You're such a tit, Louis," she berates with an overdramatic eye roll. 

I grin. "Glad to never disappoint, baby sis," I coo at her before turning back to Harry. He seems to be appraising me so I decide to return the favour, shifting my weight to cock my hip as I make a point of gliding my gaze down his body.

It looks good, I admit with a bit of purr. His grey jeans are fitted and his white scoop neck t-shirt is bunched up over the buckle of his Armani belt. My eyes widen a fraction at the brand and I decide that he _has_ to be from That Styles Family. Not many kids around this school are wearing Armani belts and Yves St Laurent ankle boots. The outfit's pulled together with a navy trimmed beige blazer that I reach out to pluck at.

"I'm into the schoolboy thing," I tell him honestly and watch with satisfaction as he turns an interesting shade of crimson and, whether he means to or not, he leans into my hand. I stare at him intensely, eyes flicking between his curiously. He smiles and I notice that it's crooked - that the right side of his mouth goes up and the left goes down. It's oddly endearing. Everyone raves on about symmetry, uploading their pictures to Cosmo's website to have a computer tell them how beautiful they are based on science.

I can tell you without science and without symmetry that the Styles kid is fucking gorgeous.

Lottie clears her throat and we both lurch, having completely forgotten about her presence. I look over at her and try to ignore the smug grin on her face.

"Looks like you're hitting it off..." she says slowly. "Like are you aware that you're staring at each other like you have some ESPN thing going on?"

"ESP," Styles and I correct her in unison and then look at each other; his smirk mirrors my own.

"Oh my god, go fall in love already," she groans, throwing up her hands defensively. "I'm going to class. Try to make it there with your clothes on, all right boys?" she advises, making a particular point of poking Harry in the chest and staring him down. He looks mortified - which leads me to believe that he's not the sort to get around - and we both watch as she storms off into the school, fingers flying over the screen of her phone.

The bell rings and I raise an eyebrow at Harry.

"So we have two options," I tell him diplomatically. "We can get to English late _or_ we can just say fuck it and ditch." I know my tone tells him what answer I want. I know my eyes tell him what answer I want. What I don't know is if _he_ will tell me the answer I want.

He chews on his bottom lip, clearly having a moral dilemma that I am all to happy to intrude upon.

"Patts is a bro, Styles. We'll just make up some excuse, it doesn't even have to be good, and he'll let us off the hook." 

He looks at me through his fringe and I realize how close in height we are. He's not even a few inches taller than me. I like it. His bottom lip pops free of his teeth - shiny and red and... He literally has no idea how sexual it is - has no fucking clue that my first instinct is to lean in and suck on it until he's moaning into my mouth.

I stop myself from continuing that line of thought, thinking it's probably best to avoid stimulating imaginings while wearing a pair of my tightest skinnies. (Styles, you're welcome for giving you this fabulous view of my ass.)

Speaking of said great view of my ass... I brush past Styles, taking a few steps towards the school parking lot and stop.

"Well?" I call out, waiting a moment before turning to look at him.

Bingo, I think as I see that his eyes are very much on the prize.

"Yeah, fine," he breathes - as if he ever had a choice - and follows me to the parking lot. When we reach my baby I simply _beam_. 

"You know anything about cars?" I ask as I go round to the driver's side, pulling my keys out of my pocket. He shakes his head and I groan loudly. "Horrible, Styles. You should be ashamed," I scold, getting in the car and leaning across the seat to unlock his door. When he gets in he's looking at me with an incredulous expression.

"You're driving a fancied up beater," he tells me in a completely serious tone that makes me want to kick his ass out of my car right. now.

"How very dare you!" I bark, staring him down with all the intensity of a slighted muscle car owner. "This is a 1971 Buick Gran Sport, you pleb. One of four hundred." I put the keys into the ignition, humming happily when the motor roars to life, and look at Styles, expecting some sort of revelation. But he's just staring at me with a stupefied expression.

"Oh my god," I moan, petting the steering wheel apologetically, "The beauty of my baby is completely lost on you." I give him the stink eye for a brief moment before shifting to reverse, a cavalier grin moving in to replace my disdain.

"Ready?" I ask, aware that he absolutely isn't.

"For wha--" 

We fly backwards and are out of the parking lot in a blink. Styles is wide-eyed and slack-jawed - probably the way he looks after sex - and I feel a burst of pride.

"Zero to sixty in nine point five," I tell him snidely. He doesn't need to ask what I'm talking about.

\---

_Favourite Colour - Tokyo Police Club_

"I told you I'm shit at soccer," Styles tells me through a frenzy of laughter that has him doubled over and clasping his sides. I'm not quite seeing the humour in the situation. 

"Yeah, I thought that meant you wouldn't be able to kick at all," I accuse as I stare morosely at the church roof, "Not that you had a rogue Hulk kick hidden in that lanky uncoordinated body."

That starts him up all over again.

"Rogue Hulk kick!" he howls as if I'm trying to be funny. Fucking Juniors, man.

"K well," I say loudly so he can hear me over the sound of how much fun he seems to be having, "I'm gonna find a way onto the roof. Feel free to continue being useless down here."

I ignore the evident karma in effect here - usually I'm the one shitting things up and waiting around for everyone else to find a way to fix it - as I make my way to the back of the church. If my memory serves me correctly there's a shed back here that I can use to get onto the roof. I hear footsteps heavy on the gravel behind me and stop, turning to see an absolutely beaming Styles. His cheeks are flushed and he still shudders with remnant chuckles and his eyes are so fucking bright I feel a bit blinded - not that I let him know that.

"Hey, great to see you've decided against being useless," I congratulate sarcastically, "Good chap."

He giggles, a lot less intensely than before, and makes his way to my side.

"I haven't laughed that hard in ages," he tells me - still a ball of sunshine. I notice tear tracks on his cheeks and quickly swipe my finger across one. He stills at the contact - looks at me with an alarming amount of trust for someone that's just met me.

"You were crying," I tell him incredulously, holding up my finger as if he'll see the dried tears I just brushed it across.

"I _was_ crying," he agrees shamelessly and I shake my head, continuing towards the back of the church. He's something else, this Styles kid. He's... I turn the corner and see the shed with a rush of relief that doesn't last long as I realize that he's a bit scary. Not in a "Boo!" sort of way, but more in an unpredictable way. He's new here and he clearly wants to make friends - God bless his poor soul that he was desperate enough to let even Lottie take him in - and he's so goddamned charming and interesting. It's not even been three full hours and I'm over here hoping he'll stick with me, not move on to the rest of the school when they're all smitten with him as well because I just _know_ the second they get a taste of him they'll want him too.

We approach the shed side by side and share a look. I'm the type of person that gets attached to people fast but even this is a bit ridiculous for me. Then again, Niall had had nothing but accolades for the new kid last night when we hung out so I suppose I'm not the only person he's charmed with his stupid fluffy head.

"You wanna boost me up?" I ask him after a moment of staring at the shed, debating.

"Um, sure. But how?" He digs his toe into the gravel, embarrassed, and it's my turn to laugh.

"Have you ever actually had fun before?" I want to know because it's really starting to look like he hasn't. He ruffles up like an indignant bird at the accusation. Apparently someone's convinced him he has had fun before.

"I've had so much fun," he tells me in his slow lazy speech, lips wrapping around the words in that silly way I've never seen anyone but him do. His eyes twinkle as he meets my gaze, holding his ground.

"Clearly not," I dispute as I interlock my fingers and bend my knees to demonstrate. "Just clasp your hands like this and bend a bit. I'll step into them and you just boost me up. It's pretty simple."

...

Pretty simple turns out to be bloody impossible, I think as Styles fails to keep his hands together for the umpteenth time, finally collapsing into a fit of giggles that ends with both of us tumbling to the ground until he's sprawled on top of me.

"Styles!" I snap but he can't stop laughing. He drops his face into my neck, puffing out one hot breath after another until I feel goosebumps rising on my skin. I go stiff as a board as a wash of warmth spreads through me.

...Not good.

"I'm sorry," he sniggers, exhausted but unable to stop laughing. "I've just been so worried about this move and I think I'm sort of losing it," he confides into my neck and his lips moving against my skin along with the little puffs of breath are starting to create a little situation for me.

I mean, he's fucking gorgeous and I'm only human.

"It's cool," I say tightly, starting to squirm a bit as the situation becomes more desperate. I've only just met him and he really doesn't give off the impression of being a particularly _experienced_ individual and who knows, maybe he actually has a little black book as thick as Shakespeare's entire works but... I don't want him to figure out my current predicament and feel pressured or put off or intimidated. I put my hands on his shoulders to try and push him off but then he shifts on his own and--

"Shiiiit," I hiss, hips bucking up of their own accord as Styles manages to align our groins and God help me, not pressing up a second and third time is fucking _painful_ , especially when I feel his dick twitch interestedly against mine through our jeans. 

He freezes, a soft "oh" falling from his lips into my neck, and I feel his eyes squeeze shut, whether from mortification or pleasure, I'm not sure. And then-- then little bastard ruts against me once - twice - three times and I'm nearly rock hard by the last one, hands clenched tight around his shoulders from my efforts to keep myself from joining in. My pulse flutters in my throat as Styles draws in a shaky breath and bites down on my shoulder gently, smothering a moan against my skin.

"Styles," I warn in a gravelly tone as his teeth press into the flesh at my neck, press into that little button of warmth curling in my stomach. 

"Louis," he moans, the sound sinfully deep when I'm steadfastly trying to _not_ take advantage of him. 

"Fuck," I growl, rolling my shoulders and pushing his face off my neck. He lifts his head and... he looks like fucking sex, I realize with a groan - glossy pink lips, cheeks flushed and splotchy, eyes glazed over - it's like I'm looking at a fucking hentai drawing.

"How experienced are you?" I ask because he's goddamn dry humping me and I want to encourage it but I have to know what I'm getting into first. I mean, I'm no Casanova but I've had my fair share of not quite boyfriends - most of them older - and I know what to do and say to make a guy feel good and I know how far I'd be willing to go right now but there's no guarantee that Styles is on that same page. 

I send out a silent "fuck you" to everyone that has ever called me immature - this is the absolute _pinnacle_ of maturity, Jesus.

"Um..." he bites his lip and his blush deepens, spreading down his neck as he averts his eyes and mumbles, "I've kissed before."

I clench my eyes shut and take a deep breath through my nose, trying to ignore the way he's still pressed against me, feeling so amazing and so torturous and _big_ at the same time.

"We should stop," I grind out, the words painful because I don't want to at all. I want to flip him over and rub up against him until he's shuddering and arching against me and cumming all over his pants.

"Or we could keep going," he retorts and presses against me (I fight down a gasp) then seems to catch himself and adds, "Unless you don't want to..." with widening eyes as he starts to pull away but I tighten my hold on his shoulders and hold him in place.

"No," I say frantically, "I want to-- Fuck, I do..." (Although I haven't the faintest idea _what_ exactly it is that we're doing) "but. We're on a parking pad behind a church," I remind him, my voice dropping to something sardonic and he breathes out a daring little smirk.

"I've got no problem with it if you don't."

I clench my eyes shut at the sultry way he says it and try to sort through my morals and find out where this falls.

"Just a bit?" he asks, voice still deep and thick like honey and what the fuck are morals anyway when there's a hot curly haired boy with a tempting hard on pinning you to the ground and asking you to let him have his way with you.

I let out a resigned breath (poor me, I get to get off with an incredibly hot boy) that turns into a hooded smile and his eyes absolutely light up.

"Yeah, all right. But you're setting the pace, k babe?" I finally say - his breath hitches when I call him "babe" - and lift my head the slightest bit to nip at his chin. His hips buck down against mine and I move to meet them now that I have permission. With my internal debate decided, I'm quick to set the rhythm and it's fucking painful, rutting against him in my skin tight jeans while I'm laying on gravel. Little rocks nip and scratch all along my back and the small pains just make me push up more desperately - feel like nails scraping down my back and make my heart pound faster. I can feel how hard he is against my hip and it takes every ounce of willpower I have to keep from reaching in his pants and wrapping my fingers around him - crawl underneath him and take him into my mouth, thick and heavy.

I'd start talking dirty - tell him all the things I'm thinking of doing to him right now but I'm worried that falls outside the bounds of "just a bit".

His pace starts to pick up and his breathing becomes more erratic and he's staring down at my face as if I'm fucking heavenly and without thinking, I shift until I can wrap my legs around him, hooking my heels behind his thighs and taking advantage of the leverage to help drive his force. I push back against his shoulders, rocking him even harder and this is so fucking uncomfortable with my zipper in the way and a fucking playground of jagged pebbles underneath me but it's so fucking hot at the same time.

"Kiss you?" Harry pleads, eyes fixating on my lips as he gets out what he can of the question. I nod and loose one of my hands from his shoulder to tangle it in the back of his hair as our mouths crash together. He bites hard - bites like he has no idea he's going to leave my lips swollen and sore for days. I don't stop him - just nip back lightly in encouragement and revel in the heavy burn of it. 

His hips start to stutter against mine and I bring the hand in his hair around and press my thumb into his cheek - pop it into his perfect fucking dimple. He pulls back from the kiss and twists his head, mouthing at my thumb and I go a bit dizzy as he grabs my wrist and dips my fingers into his mouth, sucking on them. He makes a high-pitched keening noise as his tongue swirls around the digits and his eyes are locked on my lips. I'm sure they're red and swollen - they feel that way.

"Fuck you're good," I encourage him in mild amazement as I watch my fingers disappear between his lips. "You're fucking wonderful," I praise, voice hiccuping as his hips crash down on mine particularly hard and he groans around my fingers. The vibration makes me twitch and I have to clench my eyes shut to hold back the pulse of pleasure that could easily slip into an orgasm.

"Are you close, babe?" I ask - breathless and shaky once I've regained a bit of control - and he nods his head eagerly, slurping on my fingers. Saliva drips down my knuckles and I swallow thickly as I croak, "God, you should see yourself. You look fucking filthy, Styles."

His cheeks hollow as he gives my fingers a particularly hard suck and I grit out a long moan, imagining his cheeks hollowing around my cock like that. 

"Are you thinking about sucking my cock, babe?" I whisper as I lean up to kiss his cheek and he nods around my fingers. I'm so close and so desperate that I don't even care that I'm about to come in my pants like a fucking fifteen year old. 

"You are unreal," I tell him in a husky tone, mouthing against his cheek desperately, my words mangled with hisses of air as Styles rubs his boner against mine, quick and focused.

He tries to speak but he can't around my fingers, so I pull them loose with a wet popping noise that puts me seconds away from spilling.

"M'gonna come," he gasps on a beg and the look in his eyes and the tone of his voice are so fucking pornographic that they put me over. I fumble to wrap my arms around him, fingers scrambling around the fabric of his blazer as I bury my face in his chest. He starts coming seconds later with a choked off shout and we stay like that, wrapped around each other, twitching and rutting through our orgasms together until we're both collapsed against the ground, breathing like we've run a marathon - dampness soaking wet patches through the front of our jeans.

"That was really your first time coming with a guy?" I ask him in amazement and my toes curl at the thought that it really might be. He's spent, cheek flat against my chest, but I feel his nod before I hear his words.

"Yeah, it was," he says, breathless. "That was incredible." I'm too tired to preen so I settle for a fond hair tussle as a silly smile splits my face.

"Thanks. You weren't half bad yourself," I tell him around a yawn and we both chuckle. My fingers itch to pull out a cigarette but I refrain, unsure of Styles' stand on smokers and not wanting to risk it - well, not in a post-orgasmic haze at least.

The sound of a door opening and closing sounds in the distance and I turn my head in that direction lazily. Probably just someone heading out to run errands or something.

"What's going on out there?"

I blink at the question and see an old man coming around the corner of the church holding a broom.

"Jesus Christ," I whine as I shake Styles' shoulders. "Get up, kid. We've got company." 

Seems the threat of being caught is a proverbial lighter under his ass because Styles is on his feet a few stumbled movements later and is quick to give me a hand up as well. When we're both on our feet we pause for a moment to take the man in. He's old - fucking decrepit really - and is hobbling at us at the best pace he can manage. But it's really not that threatening. Even with a sensitive dick and an uncomfortable dampness in my pants, I won't have any problems out-walking him. We don't even need to run - it would be overkill. So we hurriedly make our way around the other side of the church and spill into my car in a languid boneless mess - both still in that glowing looseness that follows a good orgasm. 

Styles gets his second show of the prowess of my baby girl and when we roll up to the school - both howling with laughter - we're just in time for lunch. I tell him numerous times that I can drop him off at home to change or bring him by mine and lend him a pair of sweats but it seems that both options are absolute no's from him. He's adamant about it actually.

"I'll just wrap my blazer around my waist," he assures me as we hear the bell ring. 

"You sure?" I ask, still sceptical of him going through the rest of his day with jizz pants... Sceptical and also a bit turned on.

"Totally sure," he confirms with that crooked little smile of his and, without really thinking, I lean in to give him a quick peck on the lips - nothing scandalous - but the way Styles squeaks you'd think I'd just told him I love him.

I grin at him, slow and smug because I like that I have this effect on him.

"Have a good rest of the day," I tell him and he blushes and nods.

"Yeah, you too."

And then he's walking away with his blazer around his waist and hobbling like he's got an uncomfortable cum patch in the front of his jeans and I'm grinning like someone that has a devastatingly adorable schoolyard crush.

\---

_Mother - Said the Whale_

"I _knew_ you two begged off together!" Niall yells triumphantly, punching me in the shoulder harder than he'd probably intended but I grit my teeth and take it. "Man, Dr. Sullivan is gonna have his ass tomorr-- Damn it! For real?" he exclaims angrily as the AI scores a point on him in FIFA. I look over at Zayn and Liam, who are cuddled up on my arm chair, looking nauseatingly couple-y. 

Zayn opens is mouth and I shoot him a nasty glare.

"Zayn," I warn as he bites his tongue and grins at me playfully. "Predictable ass jokes are never funny."

"They're always funny, Tommo," Liam disputes, looking around Zayn and resting his chin on his boyfriend's shoulder. I see Niall nodding his agreement out of the corner of my eye and fight down an irritated groan.

Am I seriously friends with a bunch of fucking preteens?

My phone buzzes on the coffee table and all eyes but Niall's (he's fixated on getting back at the computer player) swivel to it. 

"You think that's him?" Zayn asks Liam conversationally and I refuse to blush or give him any degree of a reaction, which is hard when I'm secretly hoping it is Styles and am not so secretly hoping none of them notice my bruised and swollen lips. They actually _really_ hurt.

"I haven't even given him my number," I drawl, playing it cool as I roll my shoulders back and kick my feet up on the table. I don't bother grabbing my phone - whoever it is can wait. Niall finishes up a solid play with a goal and shouts at my tv. No one even blinks at the display. Niall and loud sort of go hand in hand.

"So you're not gonna dick him again then?" Zayn wants to know and both he and Liam erupt into a fit of sniggers. They curl around each other and Liam plants a kiss on Zayn's neck. They're so fucking overkill.

"That's repulsive," I fire back. "And I didn't even fuck him. Just showed off the Buick and played a bit of soccer." I want to smile as I remember how hilarious Harry thought it was when he lobbed my ball and got it stuck on the roof but I don't. The boys are like vultures right now. Besides smiling hurts my love bitten lips. Such a tough life I lead.

My phone buzzes again two consecutive times.

"So that's not him then?" Liam confirms sceptically as if he can't believe that anyone else would be blowing up my phone. I would feel offended but his implication isn't off. I've got loads of people I chat with and hang out with when it's convenient but I don't exactly have many friends I want to regularly see... beyond the present company of course.

Although even that's shady. As of right now I'd be more than happy to kick them all out of my apartment.

Another buzz and Niall's pausing the FIFA game and making a grab for my phone. I launch at him, a rush of anxiety giving me that extra oomph I need to tackle Niall and rip the phone from his fingers before he can start reciting whatever texts I've just received. He cackles somewhere near hysterics as I crawl off him and back to my section of the couch.

"Fuck you very much," I spit at him as I unlock the screen and open up my messages, my phone buzzing again as a text from an unknown number appears. My stomach may do a series of flips. I scroll through my notifications, reviewing the messages.

\--

_**From: Lottie** _

_care to explain why harry shoewd up after lunch walking like hed been buggered up the ass?!?!?!??!?!?_

_\--_

_**From: Lottie** _

_seriously louis!!! he was probably a virgin this morning you better b good to him. i rely like him!_

_\--_

_**From: Unknown** _

_Hey. Um... just wanted to say hi and um... I don't know... thanks for the great morning :) I had a lot of fun._

_\--_

_**From: Unknown** _

_And not just with the part where we orgasmed! I had fun the whole time!_

\--

Fuck am I ever relieved Niall did not get anywhere with his attempt to snoop through my messages. I make a quick mental note to add a passcode to my phone.

\--

_**From: Unknown** _

_Sorry, it's Harry! Lottie gave me your number. Hope that's okay! :)_

\--

I stand up and beeline for my bedroom before any of the boys can see the fond smile fighting against the stoic line I'm trying to maintain with my lips.

"Oy," Liam calls after me, "Is it Harry?"

"No!"

"It's Harry," Niall tells them and they all laugh.

"Play your game, Niall," I snipe, pausing in the doorway of my room to lean out and give them all a hard look. "And I swear to God if any of your lame asses bring him up again you can get the hell out of my house." I treat them to a saccharine smile that has Niall whistling.

"Man, you're cold," he comments offhandedly, fingers flying over the buttons of the controller as he aims for the net. The shot misses and he looks at me very clinically. "Living on your own has changed you."

"Yeah," Zayn agrees. "You used to kiss and tell."

That has the three of them giggling and me slamming the door to my room. I ignore the way their laughter crescendos and lift my hand to my tender lips. He _did_ bite hard and they _will_ be sore and swollen for days, I repine.

Then again, he could have littered my neck with hickeys so I guess I'm still coming out on top. Nothing like being marked up like a kept man to ruin a guy's (undeserved but well-maintained) bad boy player image. I fire a quick message to Lottie, smirking as I fall back on my bed.

\--

_**To: Lottie** _

_what can i say sis. we had the right um beyonce ;) :p_

_\--_

_Her reply is almost instantaneous but I don't bother reading it. Instead I reread the messages from Harry. I can't believe he actually texted me the words "the part where we orgasmed". He is suck a fucking dork. I almost bite my lip but the pinch of pain stops that course of action rather quickly._

_\--_

_**_To: Styles_ ** _

_your such a stalker_

\--

Another two texts from Lottie come in and I'm tempted to text her back with a curt "would you go away" but figure that would just rile her up further. A text from Harry comes through anyway.

\--

**_From: Styles_ **

You're*

\--

I swallow back a laugh on the off chance that the boys are all pressed up against my door like the Scooby Doo Gang, trying to listen in. It sounds weird and invasive but with their complete lack of respect for privacy I wouldn't even be surprised to find them all huddled outside my door.

\--

**_To: Styles_ **

thanks mr patts

\--

A round of explosive cheers break out in the living room - so they aren't slathered against my door - and I roll my eyes, wondering if Niall winning a round of FIFA really deserves this enthusiastic of a reaction when another text comes through - this one from Niall. I'm about to ignore it; it's probably just a stupid picture of his scor--

"Open it!" Niall hollers.

Well then.

\--

**_From: Niall_ **

just got a call back from the horseshoe! booked a gig for this friday!!!!!!!!! 1d is da booooomb

\--

I have to reread the message four times over, actually ignoring an incoming message from Harry as I absorb the words.

"For real, Niall?" I yell because I want an answer right now and texting takes too much time. My heart is hammering as I start grinning like an idiot - sore protesting lips be damned.

"For fucking real, mate!" he affirms with a whoop and before I can even think it through I'm opening up my conversation with Harry.

\--

**_From: Styles_ **

I'm just trying to make you a better person!

\--

I ignore that text and type one up of my own, fingers fumbling over the screen as my mind tumbles over my disbelief.

The fucking Horseshoe is like the most legendary place to play!

\--

**_To: Styles_ **

STYLES WHAT ARE YOU DOING FRIDAY!

\--

 

**From: Styles**

Ummm... school then homework? Why are you yelling?

\--

**To: Styles**

im in a band with niall and we just got a gig at the FUCKING HORSESHOE TAVERN STYLES! THE HORSESHOE FUCKING TAVERN

\--

My hands actually tremble with excitement and I can hear the boys just totally buzzing out in the living room.

\--

**_From: Styles_ **

Wow... that's really cool! :)

\--

**To: Styles**

...

\--

**To: Styles**

you dont know what the horseshoe is do you...

\--

**From: Styles**

haha not a clue! :p

\--

If I could reach through my phone and smack him I would.

\--

_**To: Styles** _

_its like the sickest place to play in the city!!!!!!! the police, the ramones, etta james, the fucking ROLLING STONES HAVE ALL PLAYED THERE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!_

_\--_

_**From: Styles** _

_Holy shit. Louis. THAT IS SO COOL! I'll absolutely be there :) :) :)_

\--

I stare up at my ceiling and my goofy grin won't move. It _is_ so cool. It _is_ holy shit.

"Lou, get out here and stop fucking around on your phone!" Niall demands and I'm hopping off my bed and hurtling through the door in a second. We all throw ourselves onto the couch in what can only be described as a cuddle puddle and laugh and chat about all the crazy shit we've done as a band and I'm a little bit convinced that this has been one of the best days of my life.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it! I decided to scrap making my cute little text pictures for this chapter. Was too much of a pain in the tush to organize. Thanks very much for reading this far and a massive thank you to those of you commenting, bookmarking, leaving kudos, and reblogging/liking on Tumblr (I'm "naturallypxnk"). :) It really is a lovely feeling to see that even one person is enjoying this little endeavor of mine!
> 
> Also, I sort of lost my marbles when Infinity dropped! The star theme is going to fit SO WELL with this fic and the sequel, which is titled Tripping Over Stars. It definitely got my mind buzzing around more moments for the sequel. 
> 
> Anyway, have a lovely one and thank you for reading. :)


	4. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Whatever," I say dismissively and then lean forward and look Gemma dead in the eye, whispering, "I have a boyfriend." I bob excitedly as I wait for her reaction.
> 
> "You're gay?" she asks, tilting her head, and if I was wondering how awake she is then that right there is my answer.
> 
> I glower at her. "You're _so_ funny," I drawl, unamused, and she rewards me with a cheeky grin.
> 
> "God bless. My humour doesn't even desert me at three in the morning."
> 
> My gaze flits to the clock. "Two fifty-six."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only two songs in this chapter! 
> 
> Montreal Love Song - We Are The Take (SERIOUSLY LISTEN TO THIS SONG IT IS SO BEAUTIFUL)  
> Meaning (Stripped Version) - Gavin DeGraw

_Montreal Love Song - We Are the Take_

"You smoke?"

Louis looks at me like I'm an idiot, cigarette hanging from his lips as he pulls a lighter from his pocket. I guess the answer is pretty obvious. He lights it and then takes it from his mouth.

"No, I don't," he snaps and I cringe a bit at the acid in his tone. 

We're huddled under the overhang outside an intimate bistro watching a sheet of rain fall from the sky. I blow out a frustrated breath of air at Louis' sour mood. His conversation skills at dinner had been even less pleasant than this.

"Sorry. Stupid question." I shove my hands in the pockets of my lined denim coat and watch as he releases a stream of smoke. I crinkle my nose. It smells disgusting.

Lightning cracks the sky and I edge closer to Louis, shuddering as a misty wind blows at us. The street lamps are watery spots in the storm and the pavement is glassy and lit up a like a Christmas tree - reflecting the reds and yellows and greens of the traffic lights.

A lady in a long trench coat with the collar turned up and loudly clicking heels hurries past us, an inside out umbrella hanging uselessly from her hand. Another gust of wind showers Louis and I in our poorly protected nook and he places his free arm around me, pulling me into him. I cuddle against his chest - cold leather dotted with raindrops - and try not to sigh.

"They'll rebook you guys," I say quietly and wrap my arms around him, hands curling around the softness of his love handles through the stiffness of his coat. He takes a reactionary drag of the cigarette and I wonder at the fact that after four consecutive days of practically being attached with him at the hip, this is the first time I've seen him smoke.

"Probably not," Louis says bluntly and holds the cigarette in front of my lips. "Want a drag?" he asks, mocking me. I shake my head and grimace, repulsed.

"Not for me, thanks." 

"Not into getting cancer or COPD?" he quips, smiling morosely at me and I roll my eyes. He huffs irritably. "You're a bit of snob, Styles," he informs me rudely and my jaw drops, shocked at his statement.

"I'm what?" I stare at him, confused and not amused with this crap mood he's throwing at me when I haven't even done anything.

"A snob," he repeats, tone confrontational, but when I move to step away from him, his arm tightens around me - holds me in place. I shake my head - shake loose the droplets of water clinging to my curls - and dig my fingers into his side as I try not to snap at him.

"Is this making you feel better?" I question tersely and he looks at me like he hasn't the faintest idea what I'm on about. "Picking a fight," I clarify. "Is it making you feel better?"

He drops the cigarette and it fizzes out on the rain soaked sidewalk. There's a crash of thunder and I jump - not scared. Startled.

"Scared of a little thunder, Styles?" Louis teases, tone still more biting than what I'm used to. This time I ignore his tightening arm when I pull away and manage to separate myself from him.

"I need to get home."

He laughs. "Oh my god, calm down."

"Can you take me home now?" I ask directly. I don't see what's funny about him being a tit because he's had a bad day.

He sighs and throws back his head as if I'm being absolutely unreasonable then pulls his keys out of his pocket.

"As you wish, Princess," he exhales dryly and I clench my jaw, refusing to rise to the bait. I turn and leave the relative shelter of the overhang and water pelts my face, plasters my hair to my forehead, and soaks through my coat. I don't even notice the puddles splashing up and soaking the ankles of my jeans. In this level of downpour there isn't any part of me that's "less dry". It's all just "drenched".

Louis trails after me and I hear him curse the second he's out from under the overhang. I don't want to be a dick but I crack a tiny smile thinking he maybe deserves it a bit.

The GSX isn't far. We managed to find a spot on the street just a block up from the restaurant but the rain is heavy enough that by the time we reach his car we're both soaked entirely through. As I watch Louis run around to the driver's side and get in, leaning over to unlock my door, part of me wonders if being soaked is just going to sour his mood even further. If that's even possible. I hurry to his car and slide in quickly, overcome with violent shivers - an unpleasant side effect of finally getting out of the rain.

I reach forward to blast the heat and we're both hit with a wave of cold air that has Louis cursing under his breath. Tucking my chin into the collar of my coat, I settle in and wait for the engine to heat up so we can actually get some warmth.

Louis, despite his grumbling, doesn't argue but he doesn't start to drive either. I glance over at him and he looks so small and soggy with his dripping leather and pinched expression.

"I'm so fucking mad right now, Harry," he admits out of nowhere in a voice so small I almost don't realize he's spoken - only notice because he actually calls me Harry. Since we've met it's been nothing but "Styles" and "kid". I look at him and see his eyes, hooded and dim and staring straight at me. There's no trace of an apology in them and the little light of warmth that lit up within me at him using my name fizzles out.

"At me?" I ask roughly even though I know he isn't. He's painfully disappointed. Has been since the call came this morning before school that the Horseshoe was cancelling their show - decided to put up a band from BC with a huge buzz about them instead.

He had been obnoxiously chipper in English this morning - smart-assing Patts the entire period and shouting out completely random responses to every question he had asked. Niall and I had laughed because it _was_ funny but... It had also been glaringly obvious that Louis wasn't actually in the World's Best Mood. Quite the opposite actually. He was in an absolute shit mood and was trying to hide it behind cheer and bravado and... _noise_. Then first period had ended and I hadn't seen or heard from him again until six o'clock when I got a phone call asking if I wanted to go on a proper date.

"You know I'm not mad at you," Louis says, exasperated.

I lean back against the door with a deflated sigh. Proper date. Right.

The heat kicks in and my shivers intensify as my body realizes how cold it actually is. Teeth clacking, I meet Louis' eye and find my way around my thoughts - looking for something to say.

"You're sure acting like it." I'm not necessarily trying to argue with him but... I hate when people think they can take their crap days out on me because I'm _nice_. Nice and doormat are two very different words and people seem to forget that.

Louis has the decency to blush and look a bit ashamed.

"I'm bad at this," he says defensively, averting his eyes. I watch a bead of water as it tracks down his forehead and over the bridge of his nose, trailing over his skin until it drops off. 

He looks really gorgeous like this with his cheeks pinched pink from the cold, his eyes vividly blue against the backdrop of the dark night, and his messy fringe soaked and plastered to his face - water dripping off of all his angles and edges and soft spots alike. It reminds me of the way he looked yesterday when we had fogged up his car with a steamy makeout and dry hump session ("I'm 15 years old again, Styles," Louis had repined as he stared down at the wet spot on the front of his jeans). We'd both sweated enough that our hair was sticky and our cheeks were red and I feel a lot more angry with him all of a sudden because he had been so _lovely_ yesterday.

"You're not bad at this. You're _shit_ at it," I correct him, mind racing around the Louis I'd spent the evening with last night. He had called me at nine thirty - long after I had changed into my pyjamas and brushed my teeth and crawled under my covers - and told me he was going to retrieve his soccer ball from the church roof and that I had no choice but to accompany him since it was my fault it was up there in the first place.

So I'd unpacked myself from my bed, got dressed, and hopped in Louis' car when he had pulled up at my house half an hour later. We had made the executive decision that Louis would boost me onto the shed since I was obviously a shit booster. Luckily, that time around our success rate had been 100% and after we'd found the ball we had farted around on the roof until the bite in the air became too crisp to ignore and we were forced to retreat to his car with shiny red noses and twin cases of the sniffles. In the dim light of the car, I'd discovered that the ball was signed by David Beckham. He didn't tell me how he'd gotten it and had rather effectively changed the subject by dragging me into the back seat for some "fun".

"Well, I don't know how to _not_ be shit at this!" Louis snaps, smacking his hands on the steering wheel and glaring at me. "I've never done this before."

This. 

I swallow around the sudden urge to press him for a definition of what _this_ is and push the impulse to the back of my mind. It can wait until after he's stopped being a massive asshole unnecessarily.

"You start by not expecting me to be okay with you being a complete dick," I bite back instead, and as the words spill out of my mouth I realize that we might be edging into our first fight. Louis looks a bit stunned that I had the balls to say that. I stare him down because he needs to figure out fast that I'm not okay with this.

This. The word rings like a bell in my mind and I tamp it down again.

Later.

I focus on how mature and proud of myself I feel for standing my ground. I'll have to thank Ida later for making sure I always knew when to stop being "nice" and stick up for myself. I'd probably be a doormat without her in all honesty.

"How are you so fucking reasonable?" Louis demands, tone crumbling into something softer as he collapses back in his seat, head lolling to the side so he can hold my eye. 

"You're not the first person to take a bad day out on me," I say a bit sardonically, thinking of my father and the way he would lay into me when I was younger and he had lost a huge case. 

_"Harry, can you get your fucking elbows off the table?"_

_"An A isn't an A+, Harry. From where I'm standing I don't see much to be proud of."_

_"Why is your hair always such a goddamn mess? Figure out a way to fix it or stay in your room tonight. I'm not exposing my associates to that hideous affair on your head."_

In retrospect, "that hideous affair on your head" is actually a bit hilarious. I snort quietly and Louis cocks an eyebrow at me, annoyed. "What?"

"Just--" I cut myself short and wipe a hand over my face as I consider telling Louis. It's not _really_ funny but at the same time it's absolutely comical and I think he'd get that but... aside from my knowing Lottie and telling him the odd detail or two about Gemma we haven't really discussed our families yet. 

Mine's total crap - the type of family you don't bring up around people you don't know well and I suspect Louis' is much the same. Teens in high school don't live by themselves in apartments in ritzy buildings with doormen and drive $30,000 (I was dumbfounded when he told me) cars.

"Just what?" Louis presses, interrupting my train of thought.

"Just... my dad," I say, watching as his eyes widen a bit. Packing down a giggle because the story feels a bit too ridiculous to say out loud, I explain, "One time he said to me "I'm not exposing my associates to that hideous affair on your head." It's sort of funny looking back at it." A small crooked smile teases my lips at the lost look on Louis' face. I'll take this over the black cloud of sarcasm I've spent the rest of the evening with.

"He what?" Louis sounds completely flabbergasted and I burst out laughing.

"He said--" I begin but Louis cuts me off.

"He actually called your hair a hideous affair?" He's staring at me incredulously as I nod, a restrained smile holding back another hit of giggles.

"He's so _posh_ , Lou," I say as if that provides any insight into why it's so funny. "Even his _insults_ are posh."

Louis huffs something close to a laugh and reaches out to tangle his fingers in my drying curls. They're probably a frizzed out disaster right now but he doesn't seem to mind - just stares at me like I'm wonderful and my throat closes up.

 _This_ is the Louis I wanted to have a proper date with.

This. 

This thing between us must be _something_ if Louis thinks of it as a "this" as well...

"His insults are _shit_ ," Louis informs me, lifting his eyebrows as he adds, "And your hair is nothing short of a heavenly affair."

I beam under the light of the compliment as Louis' hand slides out of my hair and down my body, falling to rest on my knee.

"Thanks."

We stare at each other for a moment and it's the most unusual stare down I've had in my life because our eyes don't flicker. We don't glance down at each other's lips. We don't blink. I don't even think we breathe. We just stare right into the other's eyes and the word love momentarily flits through my mind, which is a bit mad seeing as we only met four days ago. But... I see something in Louis' eyes that I haven't ever seen before. It's why I keep staring. And I think he keeps staring because he sees the same thing in mine. I think that maybe love isn't what _this_ is right now, but my head buzzes and my pulse quickens as I wonder if that's where _this_ could go. I momentarily realize that the rain beating down on the roof is tinny and deafening and wonder how I hadn't noticed it earlier. 

"Does your dad pick fights when he's had a bad day?" Louis asks out of nowhere, tone intimate even as he abruptly breaks the moment to create a whole new one. I blink - surprised at the forthrightness of his question and nod in a jilted movement that belies my struggle to catch up with the sudden shift in atmosphere.

Louis flinches and I see guilt spill over his face.

"Oh."

His eyes don't stray or lose their intensity and I swallow as his fingers nervously flex against the damp fabric of my jeans.

"I don't normally apologize," he tells me and his voice is thicker than it was a moment ago. "But... I've been a fucking pain in the ass tonight. I'm sorry, Harry."

My throat goes dry and I take a shallow breath. An apology shouldn't feel this meaningful, the rational part of my brain informs me as if it can ease my pounding heart with a litany of logic.

"Thank you," I breathe, bared and genuine. Louis leans in and the hand on my knee squeezes tightly as he catches my lips in a kiss - catches my breath with his lips really. I melt into the kiss and it's painfully gentle - endearingly apologetic. He pulls back and smiles at me fondly, still close enough that his breath is warm against my face.

"You know, when I invited you to dinner tonight I sort of had an ulterior motive," he admits and I squint at him, confused.

"Ulterior motive?" I echo dumbly and Louis' lips peel back into a toothy grin.

"Wanna be boyfriends?" he asks, catching me completely off guard, and the smile on his face tilts goofily as his eyes dance.

I blink, surprised at the sudden turn of events, but once I've realized _what_ he just asked me I think I might start to actually _glow_. 

"Absolutely not," I say, unable to hide my sudden overwhelming joy as _this_ becomes _boyfriends_ in the blink of an eye. My stomach alights with butterflies.

He doesn't even frown - just leans in for another quick kiss that has me dopey and warm like liquid honey then nips my nose playfully.

"You sure?" 

I bite my lip, doing a horrendous job of covering up my giddy smile as I pretend to think it over. "I guess I could give it a try," I tell him after a beat and I wish I could have this moment happen on repeat every single day for the rest of my life because it exceeds perfect. It's marvellous and wondrous and beautiful and breathtaking and I could write a thousand pages trying to capture how happy I feel but I think I'd still fail to translate it properly.

His eyes crinkle as he beams at me so wide he might split his face and that word and all the possibility that is stuffed into it flits back into my head.

Love.

\---

_Meaning (Stripped Version) - Gavin DeGraw_

"Gem," I hiss as I quietly rap my knuckles on my sister's door. 

I wait a moment, holding my breath as I listen for some sort of indication that she's still awake. 

No response.

"Geeeem," I repeat a bit louder, though I'm careful not to raise my voice above a whisper. I wait again, bouncing anxiously on the balls of my feet, and this time I hear a faint rustle of fabric.

"What?" I hear her groan and I'm tumbling through the door before she has the opportunity to tell me to piss off. I hop onto her bed and stare down at her, warm and cozy and tucked up tightly in her blankets.

I realize that my clothes are still uncomfortably damp.

Oops.

"Harry?" She blinks, still half asleep, and then a light smattering of droplets fall from my hair onto her face and she's jolting upright, sputtering as if I've dumped a bucket of water on her. "What the hell?"

"Shh," I admonish frantically, clapping a hand over her mouth. "Do you wanna wake Ida?" 

The answer to that question is _always_ no.

Gemma tries to say something but my hand is still over her mouth so she darts her tongue out to lick my palm and I squeak, retreating and wiping my hand on my pant leg with an appalled expression.

"What time is it?" she asks, disoriented, and rubs the heels of her hands over her eyes.

I pause in the middle of wiping her saliva off my hand and glance at the clock on the nightstand. "Two forty-nine."

She drops her hands away from her face and glares at me.

"Why are you in my room at three in the morning?" she demands, starting to wake up a bit more.

"Two forty-nine," I correct and she smacks my shoulder.

"Sod off, Harry. _Why_ are you in my room?" she asks again and I feel the adrenaline that sent me racing for her door bubble up in my throat once more. When she notices my sudden manic grin, Gemma rapidly shakes her head with a grumpy frown, gripping her blankets and pulling them up as she prepares to tuck herself back in.

"Uh uh," she says firmly, tugging the duvet over her head and continuing in a muffled protest, "I am _not _listening to you chatter about your novel until sunrise."__

__I pull the blanket back (she doesn't bother to put up a fight) and look at her like she's grown a second head. "That's not even why I'm here," I say in the face of her accusation. "And I have _never_ woken you up to talk about my novel," I add defensively._ _

__Gemma raises an eyebrow at me, deadpanning._ _

__"... Okay so maybe I've woken you up like _once_ \--"_ _

__"--a week?" she finishes for me and I scowl at her. When I'm the next J.K. Rowling I am going to remind her about this conversation - remind her that she didn't appreciate being in on all the behind the scene moments._ _

__"Whatever," I say dismissively and then lean forward and look her dead in the eye as I whisper, "I have a boyfriend," and bob excitedly as I wait for her reaction._ _

__"You're gay?" she asks, tilting her head and if I was wondering how awake she is then that right there is my answer._ _

__I glower at her. "You're _so_ funny," I drawl, unamused, and she rewards me with a cheeky grin._ _

__"God bless. My humour doesn't even desert me at three in the morning."_ _

__My gaze flits to the clock. "Two fifty-six."_ _

__Gemma rolls her eyes and sits forward, reaching behind herself to prop her pillows up against the headboard. Shifting into a sitting position and pulling her duvet up to her chin, she decides she's ready for an actual discussion._ _

__"So you have a boyfriend and you're soaking wet," she summarizes, eyes darting disdainfully to my soggy bottom which is quite comfortably settled on her duvet. I nod as I reposition the pillow on my half of the bed against the headboard as well and slouch into it, ignoring Gemma's momentary stink eye._ _

__"So who is it? Does he go to our school?" she queries and I blush, suddenly realizing that Gemma and Louis are in the same grade. I don't even know if they share any classes._ _

__"Yeah," I answer hesitantly. "He's uh... he's in your grade actually."_ _

__Gemma pretends to be appalled, clutching at imaginary pearls, but her gasp turns into a yawn and she ends up blinking at me tiredly. "An older man," she praises around the yawn. "So who is it?"_ _

__A smile spreads over my face as I prepare for an outburst of jealousy if she knows who he is. I wouldn't be surprised if the entire school goes into mourning on Monday - I'm sure even the straightest bros are secretly in love with Louis. How could they _not_ be?_ _

__"Louis Tomlinson," I reply after a moment, shrugging offhandedly and going for nonchalance with my tone._ _

__I expect her to cry. I expect her to pull me into a hug and tell me how proud she is. I expect her to ask me if his ass feels as good as it looks._ _

__What I don't expect is for her to look at me like I've lost my marbles and ask, "Him?" in an incredulous tone._ _

__Then add, "He's such an ass."_ _

__I might be deliriously tired from staying out all night last night retrieving a soccer ball and then spending all night tonight out fighting with my now boyfriend and making up (out) with him in his car but I almost consider smacking her._ _

__" _You're_ an ass," I retort, deeply offended on Louis' behalf. Although it occurs to me that in reality Louis would probably be the furthest thing from offended. He'd probably be a titch proud actually._ _

__"Sure, Harry," she says dryly, "Except I'm _not_. And he totally _is_. He's in like all my classes except English - because he _failed_ it last year - and all he does is talk and make the most unfunny comments every time the teacher asks a question."_ _

__"He's the funniest person I've ever met," I defend, bristling as I think of how hard I've laughed in the last four days. "And he makes me feel like I'm the most important person in the world."_ _

__Gemma blinks. "You and every other closet case in the school," she mumbles under her breath and I'm not sure I'm meant to hear her but I do. My stomach feels like it literally drops out of me and the sound of my blood rushing pounds in my ears. I swallow and try to keep my breathing even._ _

__"What does that mean?" I ask, tone dangerously low and I can see Gemma noting my reaction - can see her watching my cheeks flush and my eyes narrow and I'm sure she even hears my heart as it pounds against my ribcage._ _

__"Harry," she says carefully - delicately, "He's supposedly been with half the school."_ _

__"Supposedly been," I reiterate as I suddenly wonder if he's been with Niall. The thought makes me nauseous._ _

__"Right," Gemma says, still looking at me like I'm one word away from snapping. "He's probably not been with anyone since we got here. I just... He has a reputation is all."_ _

__I can't believe Gemma would decide anything about Louis based on his _reputation_._ _

__" _I_ had a reputation at our last school," I remind her and she looks instantly remorseful._ _

__"Harry," she says, reaching over and placing her hand on mine. "You know that's not what I... I didn't mean... Oh shit," she exhales, dropping her head back against the wall._ _

__"Oh shit," I repeat and mimic her action. I blink at the glow-in-the-dark stars on her ceiling. I hadn't even realized she still _had_ those. I thought they'd been packed up with mom and delegated to the attic or the basement or... basically any space that we never visit._ _

__"I want you to like him, Gem," I tell her as my eyes follow the swirling path of the stars. She's put them up exactly the way mom had when we were little. I'm almost jealous that Gemma got them but then I think about my bedroom and the marked absence of anything relating to our mother in there and realize I wouldn't have kept them anyway. The past is such a stupid thing to hold onto - whether it's a doting parent that leaves or an absent parent that stays._ _

__"I'm sure I will," Gemma says so belatedly that I almost forget what we were even talking about. But then she continues in a tone that's thick with warning, "As long as he's good to you." And right. We were talking about her liking Louis._ _

__I smile softly at the ceiling. "I've never laughed so hard in my life," I confess. "We just get each other. It's kind of unsettling but... we fit like we were always meant to come together."_ _

__And there's that word again... Maybe not explicitly stated but what other emotion do you attach to a statement like "we fit like we were always meant to come together"._ _

__"Shit," Gemma breathes with a soft laugh, "That's some deep shit, baby brother."_ _

__I blush and Gemma pushes back the comforter, reaching over to poke at my jacket. I tear my eyes away from the sea of stars on the ceiling and look at her questioningly._ _

__"There's sweats and old t-shirts in my bottom drawer," she says, cheeks dimpling as she grins at me. "Don't even pretend we aren't going to be here all morning. Change quick and then crawl in."_ _

__"Yeah?" I ask enthusiastically because even though we're both almost grown adults and live in a house with enough rooms we could both have five bedrooms and still have space to spare, the nights we sleep the best are the nights we fall asleep snuggled together. Like we're still five and protecting each other from loneliness instead of imaginary monsters like all the other kids._ _

__"Yeah," she confirms with feigned exasperation. "I wanna hear all about this boy that's apparently your missing puzzle piece." She's sort of teasing me but I would tease me too if I had just heard that mushy confession._ _

__I hop out of the bed and we both laugh when the shirt is too tight and the sweats are too short as if it's the first time I've worn her old clothes to bed. When I crawl in and our giggles have died down, Gemma holds my head to her chest and pets my hair as she asks me to tell her more about Louis._ _

__I speak until the sun is rising and my voice is hoarse and my eyes are so swollen with exhaustion that I'm not sure I'll ever open them again and she hums along the whole time, drinking in the drowsy details as I fumble through them._ _

__I spare a moment to smile sleepily over the fact that Gemma stayed up until sunrise listening to me chatter about Louis and then I fall asleep, cuddled around the only person I've ever been able to faithfully call my home._ _

__\---_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we had a bit of tension but I've always had the headcanon that Louis is mildly insufferable when he's having a bad day and that Harry's patience and easy going nature always offsets it eventually :) Also, expect a lot more Gemma and Harry because I absolutely LOVE writing their relationship and I hope you guys enjoyed it too!
> 
> Thanks again for reading and as always, feel free to check out my tumblr (naturallypxnk) if you have any questions or want to chat, and thank you to the people that bookmarked, left kudos, commented, and reblogged my tumblr update. It's very much appreciated and valued!


	5. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I guess," Harry agrees offhandedly. "Now would you stop derailing and start listening," he teasingly berates as he pulls out a chip and holds it up, gesturing for me to open my mouth. I do and the Dorito bounces off my cheek.
> 
> "Thank god you're a writer not an athlete," I say seriously as I grab the chip and pop it in my mouth. "Your aim is abysmal."
> 
> "I'm a work in progress."
> 
> "Just like your novel," I quip and Harry's features bloom into a grin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs:  
> Mercury - Bloc Party  
> You Look So Fine - Garbage  
> Bad Before Good - Day One  
> Fireproof - One Direction
> 
> Thank you so so much to my beta onedcupoftea for listening to me babble and for your input and feedback!! Means a ton! x

_Mercury - Bloc Party_

"How far behind you _was_ he?" I ask Lottie as I reposition the lamp on the end table for the nth time. She glances up from where she's lounging on the couch, feet crossed at the ankles, flipping through an old issue of Cosmo. I cock my head and let out a frustrated breath. This fucking lamp looks _wrong_ no matter how I position it.

"I don't know," she replies, raising an eyebrow as she adds, "The lamp's fine, Lou. He's not gonna do a psych eval on you based on whether or not you centre your lamp."

I rub my hands together and look at her helplessly. "He hasn't ever actually set foot in here," I defend. "Who knows _what_ he's going to think."

"I like you better when you've got that "fuck everyone" mindset," she informs me before returning her attention to whatever article she's reading in the magazine. I feel cagey and a bit like speaking further _just_ to distract myself but I don't. She's right. I can move the lamp around as much as I want. As long as the place is clean Will's not going to give a single fuck.

Still, I've never felt so aware of the space I've been living in for a little over a month. It's... fancy, I guess. The appliances are all brand new and top of the line. The bar separating the kitchen and the living area has an underlit sea blue fogged glass countertop and the geometric bar stools are over a thousand dollars a piece. The art is modern and worth more than it should be considering I don't even like it. I don't know. 

The place looks ripped out of the page of a magazine with its imported Italian sofa and armchair set and cashmere throw blanket. I mean, shit, the coffee table even has a Japanese zen garden complete with sand and a miniature rake.

I guess that's what happens when you pay someone an exorbitant amount of money to make a home for your son so you can get him out of your hair and still say you're doing a good job parenting because you've set him up with "the dream".

To be honest though, I'll take the "I feel guilty that I don't love you so have something ridiculous" gifts over attention every time. My father's too much of a shit show to bother with and I've become addicted to my autonomy.

The handle on the front door turns and I nearly jump out of my skin as I whip around to watch my father waltz in in a cloud of cologne and an elegantly tailored Caraceni. Apparently I've earned autonomy but common decency (like a fucking knock or a text) is too much to expect.

"How did you get in?" is the first thing I say. No "hi", no "wow haven't seen you in five months, what's good, dad?", no "you look older since the last time I saw you".

Will fits right in with my Architecture Digest apartment - he looks like he walked out of a catalogue for high-end menswear: silver hair, striking blue eyes, a figure underneath his $7,000 suit that clearly benefits from regular sessions with a personal trainer. He's got a bit of a George Clooney vibe. I hate it - sort of hate him too.

"With the amount I'm paying for this place, I figured I could keep a complimentary key," he replies, smiling at me as if he thinks I should laugh. I don't.

"Hey dad," Lottie greets from the sofa, deeming his arrival a valid reason to toss the Cosmo on the coffee table. Our father leans around the wall of the entryway and grins widely at her.

"Afternoon, love," he says fondly as if he didn't see her half an hour ago at the house and I absolutely do not feel a spike of jealousy.

Will loves his daughters that's for sure.

"So this is the place, hey?" he asks as he moves into the space, eyes scanning the room and surely picking out every label and artist. You don't become a partner at one of the top advertising agencies in Canada without learning a thing or two about brands. "I like it. Marco did a nice job. I'll have to thank him for you."

Thank god someone will get around to thanking _Marco_ , I think dryly as I pull out one of the bar stools and sit on it stiffly, eyes never leaving Will. 

"Probably should, seeing as I haven't had the time to give him a heartfelt thank you card and blowjob," I comment dryly. Lottie rolls her eyes and makes a gagging noise but isn't surprised. I've been like this with Will since I hit puberty and came hollering out of the closet. I'm sure it started as a twisted and desperate attempt to gain parental attention but now it's just to make him uncomfortable. I'm sure Will has had that all figured out from the moment I started doing it.

He doesn't acknowledge my comment - knows his reactions only fuel my sarcasm - as he moves into the kitchen, opening my fridge to snoop. I smirk to myself when he whistles, pulling back to raise an eyebrow at me.

"Beer and condiments," he tells me as if I'm not the one stocking the thing. "I'm glad to see you're leading a healthy lifestyle."

I shrug. "Speaking of my healthy lifestyle," I start casually, "this would be a good time to thank you for the suite with a balcony. It's a chain smoker's delight." 

Will purses his lips and closes the fridge, moving to snoop through my cupboards and drawers in silence.

"Thank _God_ ," Lottie says into the charged silence. "Otherwise this place would smell like an ashtray."

Will glances over his shoulder at her with a sharp expression. "Right. Just make sure you don't start too."

How fucking precious. Papa bear looking out for his cub.

"Aw isn't it just adorable how much you love your daughters," I coo acerbically and shove my shaking hands under my thighs so neither of them will see. Why did I agree to this again?

There's another long silence that no one makes any effort to fill and I'm slapped in the face with the exact reason I moved out. This was what home was like whenever my father and I were in the same room. It was suffocating and tense and unhealthy for the girls. 

Will makes his way out of the kitchen and shuffles through the textbooks on my desk, pretending to have some interest in my studies.

"How are classes going?" he asks as he reads the back of the my Psych 30 text, no doubt judging it immensely. Will's one of those psychological marketers - has a phD in psychology that he uses to manipulate the masses into purchasing shit they don't need. He's such a noble man.

"Good enough," I say carefully.

"Louis has a super cute boyfriend," Lottie pipes in and Will whips around to look at me, surprised.

"Do you now?" he asks, lips lifting into a smile, "That's nice to hear you've got someone. How long have you two been together?"

The phrase seems so innocuous but all I hear is "I'm glad you have someone because now I don't have to feel guilty for pushing you out."

"Not long enough for Lottie to be telling you about him," I hedge, shooting her a glare.

"A little over a week," she says for me, completely ignoring the way I'm bristling. "His name's Harry Styles. He's seriously perfect for Lou, dad."

"Styles," Will repeats instantly, chewing on the name, and I clench my jaw. If I recognize Harry's last name then my dad probably actually _knows_ his family. Lottie is going to get an earful later. "Not Campbell Styles' son, is he?"

Lottie looks at me expecting me to know the answer. But I don't know Harry's father's first name for sure. I just know that he's a big shot lawyer.

"Haven't a clue," I reply honestly and clench my hands into fists under my thighs. Will and Lottie cannot leave soon enough, I think and feel a bite of regret at grouping Lottie in with him. I do love my sisters - a lot. Even when they're being insufferable and meddlesome they don't deserve to be tied in with Will. 

"Hm," Will hums, moving to the centre of my apartment and filling the whole room with his undeniable presence. He's a charismatic man, my father, and people adore him. It's too bad he's so busy trying to impress the world that he's only got so much energy to spare for his family - even my sisters don't get first place.

"I'm hosting a gala next month," he says after a moment. "I'd like you to come, Louis. You can bring Harry if you'd like."

It sounds like a request but it's not.

"I can talk to him," I reply, feigning nonchalance. I'm both horrified at the idea of Harry meeting my father and completely turned on over the mental image of him dressed in a suit.

My father nods, ignorant to the storm clapping about inside me. "Let me know the week before at the latest. I'll have Alison email you the details and set you up with Roberto for a suit fitting. It should be a really good one, Louis," he says with a winning grin and soft eyes, probably attempting to manipulate me. "I'm hoping you'll enjoy yourself."

I don't know how to reply to that. If I do enjoy myself it will only be because Harry is there.

"I'm glad _Alison_ can find the time to talk to me," I finally say and avert my eyes at the way Will's face drops. This is when the problems start, when both of us get just a bit too real about the insurmountable chasm between us.

"Right," he says with a jagged nod and a strained smile. "Right. I should leave now." He shifts uncomfortably and then takes a few steps to put him in line with Lottie so he can drop a quick kiss to her forehead. She must have retrieved the Cosmo at some point because she's holding it in tightly clenched hands. When he straightens and makes his way for the door, she sits up, looking at me with this exhausted expression and shakes her head.

"He's trying," she hisses quietly enough that Will can't hear as she angrily tosses the Cosmo onto the coffee table. It makes a loud slapping noise as it lands and I flinch. I don't even know what an appropriate reaction to that is so I stand up and storm to my room, slamming the door behind me to make sure they both know exactly how I feel about dear old dad's visit.

"I'm gonna come with you, dad," I hear Lottie say and then I'm throwing myself face down on my bed. When I hear the front door close I let out a haggard yell that strangles off into a frustrated groan.

\---

_You Looks So Fine - Garbage_

"Mr. Styles," I murmur into Harry's ear as I sneak up behind him in the hall, hand falling onto his hip and squeezing, "I need to have a word with you in my office."

He instantly stills and I watch, amused, as a splotchy flush smacks itself across his cheeks. Harry's head tilts just enough that he can see me and it's absolutely flabbergasting how immediate my body's response to his reaction is. I swallow around a sudden thickness clogging up my throat and press out a confident smile.

"Sure," Harry croaks and his hand settles over mine, fingers teasing into the spaces between mine, long and soft and firm. I watch as his eyes flick to the boy's washroom just across the hall and my temperature shoots up in anticipation. Another part of me starts to get up as well and I feel all too exposed when Harry shifts his position in order to drag me to the other side of the hall, through the peeling orange swinging door, and into the furthest stall. 

I grin at him as his large shaking fingers slide the lock in place. Over the course of the last few weeks my "office" has become an assortment of bathroom stalls throughout the school. It's not very glamorous or private but it's about the only place we can safely makeout on school property. We'll take whatever we can get.

Harry looks at me with large trusting eyes that are blown out and darker than usual and without a word exchanged we're lunging at each other. I press Harry firmly against the wall just to hear that little sound he makes when I take control. It rushes through my body like a hit of something _really_ good and I find myself releasing a shuddering breath against his lips. 

Harry grips my ass in his oversized hands - why he isn't a basketball player is beyond me - and tugs my hips tight against his, aligning our groins in a way that leaves us both gasping out a startled breath. He instantly starts rutting up against me and it feels _godly_ , I think as I intertwine my fingers through the thick ropes of hair on his head. The kiss breaks and Harry buries his face into the crook of my neck and I don't have to see him to know that he's smattered with red and his lips are glistening, puffy, and open in an oh shape as he grinds into me like coming up against me is the only thing in the world that matters.

It might be.

But... 

I clench my jaw and put my hands on his hips to still his rocking and he whimpers so helplessly that I actually feel it as a jolt in my groin. 

"Haz," I breathe heavily, maintaining self-control over myself even as his teeth suddenly find their way around the skin on my collarbone, nipping lightly. He's a physical revolt against me right now with his whining bites and muted hip thrusts against the pressure of my hands.

"Haz," I say again, voice tighter, and he groans almost irritably.

"What?" he moans against my skin and his eyelashes whisper little flutters on my neck that have me melting into him. 

"We--" I stop speaking as I try to wind my way around the point I intended to make...

Why did I stop this? I don't really know.

Harry's hips jut forward and... Right.

"Not gonna let you mess up your pants," I rush and Harry stills and we both know where the problem lies with that statement. He's not comfortable with doing anything more than rutting and I'm not willing to push him so...

"Hold me," he says after a beat and I feel a bit of my arousal fade under the weight of my sudden confusion.

"What?" I ask, hands still gripping his hips in a tight hold.

Harry buries his face even deeper into my neck as both of his hands fall to the crotch of his jeans. I hear the sound of his zipper just a moment before the bell for first period rings and I think Harry's about to stop - insist we get to English - but he doesn't.

"Hold me," he repeats more firmly and when I look down I see that he's got his dick out of his pants - Fuck, it's sized for his hands and is swollen and red and uncut and my mouth might actually water at the sight of it - and is running his thumb over the tip. I don't really think about his order - don't intentionally follow it anyway. All the same, my arms wrap around him of their own accord and I pull him tight against my body as I realize he's about to jack off in my arms. I could come in my pants right now I'm so turned on.

"Harry," I groan on a sound that isn't really even my voice and I can see pre-cum glistening on the head of his cock where he's smeared it but I know from experience that that's not enough wetness. I take his wrist in a tentative grip and lightly tug it upwards - tug an unhappy whine out of his throat that shifts into a gasping keen as I lap my tongue over the palm of his hand and up each of his fingers, paying extra attention to his already sticky thumb. It's salty and musky and I savour the tease of a taste that I'm getting right now.

When I'm satisfied that his hand is wet enough I lower it back down to his cock and help him wrap his fingers around it. It's emitting heat and twitches with the rest of him as his hand gives it an exploratory squeeze before beginning to move in earnest. My mouth goes so dry I can't even swallow. This is obscene. Harry is obscene. His breath is a series of high-pitched warm brushes against my neck and he squirms roughly against me as I tangle my hands up in the fabric of his shirt. His body trembles. At least I think it does. There's no real way to be sure because my own hands are just completely quaking and I never knew that holding someone while they get off could be such a turn on but it is and if I could hold Harry in my arms and watch him pump his dick every day for the rest of my life I would die the world's happiest man.

"Fuck, this is hot," I breathe in warm amazement and Harry's body tightens and vibrates and he tries to say something but all that comes out is a garbled whimper and I realize that this has him completely broken down into an incoherent mess. 

I'm going to come in my fucking pants untouched, I swear to god.

Harry's hand starts jerking faster and harder and I can hear the wet slap of his skin and I can see each sound being made and my breathing speeds up until it's totally in time with the rush of his hand over his skin - swollen and flushed a deep purple-red and dripping pre-cum onto the band of his underwear that were haplessly shoved down under his balls.

"Lou," he mewls and it's a soft beg that leaves me jerking because as he says it he wriggles against me until his hip is pressed firmly against my painfully hard dick, still trapped in my pants. I hold him even closer and more desperately and rub against him at a pace that matches his hand and he's close - I can feel it in his ragged breathing and the way his body keeps convulsing against me in short little staggered bursts. His damp forehead wipes over my neck and his skin is hot like a fever.

"Come on, baby," I encourage on a haggard voice and the words aren't even fully past my lips but Harry's scrambling to get his other hand between our bodies to catch his orgasm as it spills hot and sticky into his palm. He manages to trap most of it and I watch in a daze as he brings his hand away from his softening dick. It's coated in come and I want to lick it clean but I somehow refrain because we're taking this slow and getting a mouthful of his come doesn't very much feel like "taking it slow".

I'm so turned on that it's impossible to focus - my sight feels blurred and my head is fuzzy and all I can centre in on is _Harry_. Harry as he struggles to stay cuddled close to me while reaching for the toilet paper. Harry as he wipes off his hand with said toilet paper before tossing it into the toilet. Harry as he pulls his briefs and pants up over his soft dick and stumbles around his zipper and button with faltering fingers. Harry as he presses his forehead against my shoulder and breathes hot and loud and hard against me. 

Harry's hand as it palms over my straining erection. A ragged sound leaves my lips and I hear Harry coo, "Poor, Lou," but the words are distant and murky in the haze of my arousal and I feel myself nodding and whimpering and pushing my hips against his hand.

He laughs - it's a shaky breathy sound - and asks, "I can hold you through it if you wanna, Lou..?" 

My head bobs in a confused nod and I rub my head against his and find his jaw with my mouth, peppering it in desperate kisses. He's kind and he undoes my pants for me and guides my hand downward and breathes fumbled out encouragements as I pull myself off in a matter of minutes and then he helps me tuck myself away and we just stand in the bathroom stall holding each other and trembling and kissing every so often until Harry finally says, "We should get to class."

When we walk in with splotchy cheeks and tangled hair and glazed over eyes, Patts doesn't even acknowledge us and no one else says a thing - not even Niall.

It's pretty obvious why we're so late after all.

\---

_Bad Before Good - Day One_

Harry is a fucking bundle of sunshine.

"So Edward is um, just a normal guy and he moves to a new high school and has this instant one in a million attraction to a guy in his class named William--"

"Edward and William?" I ask raising an eyebrow as I pop a Dorito in my mouth. Harry blushes and throws a pillow at me, hitting me square in the face, and as it falls to the bed rather anti-climatically I level him with a challenging expression. 

"Stupid move, Styles," I warn and Harry's eyes widen almost comically as he scoots to the other side of the bed with a laugh.

I pick up the bag of chips and toss it on my nightstand - out of the crossfire - and then grab the pillow, ignoring Harry's rush of "Louis don't's", and start to just absolutely pummel him. He explodes into a howling cackle that warms my insides and falls onto his back as the pillow hits him in the chest. Like I said, fucking bundle of sunshine.

"I'm sorry," he wails through his laughter and tosses his hands out to try and steal the pillow from me for a retaliation. Yeah. Right. Like I'm gonna let that happen. I rip the pillow away from Harry's grabby fingers and jump to my feet, bouncing a bit on the mattress, and grin down at him, seeing in his eyes the exact moment he realizes what I'm about to do. 

"Louis don't you da--" he starts to warn but I cut him short.

"Body slam!" I shout and drop on him, kind enough to let the pillow land between us. The air whooshes out of his lungs in a breathless grunt and he doesn't even try to roll me off of him or get back at me. He just lays there, ribs expanding and contracting as he ties to recover his breathing - remnants of his giggling breaking the rhythm every now and then.

"You tit," he scolds when his breathing has finally levelled out. I shift so that I'm completely on top of him, the pillow still comfortably wedged between us, and wrap my arms and legs around him in a koala hug then lick a long stripe up his cheek that has him groaning in amused disgust. "Total tit!" he reiterates but the smile on his face says, "Louis you are the best thing that has ever happened to me."

I grin back, hoping he sees the "You are the best thing that has ever happened to me as well" that's written in it in bold capital letters.

"You can't name my character William," I tell him, attempting to sound stern through the joy crinkling the corners of my eyes. "That's my dad's name."

Harry scrunches up his nose, sighing as if I've completely put him out. "Can I name him Tom then?" he asks after a moment of consideration and I laugh, nipping at his ear and enjoying the little snicker it brings out of him. I tighten my arms around him and nip again - the giggles swell and he starts to squirm.

"I can't tell if you're ticklish or if I'm turning you on," I tell him honestly and he looks at me with this expression of complete and total cheek.

"Me neither," he confesses and lifts his head to give me a quick peck before continuing, "So I'm naming him Tom then if you don't have any objections?"

I roll off of him with an exasperated sigh and stare up at the ceiling. 

" _Or_ ," I suggest as if I'm about to introduce him to this wild and completely innovative new concept (unfortunately I share some traits with my father - selling people on ideas is probably the biggest one), "you could come up with completely original names that have no relation to you and I."

"That sounds tedious," Harry informs me without hesitation. "Plus, I want everyone that knows us together to know that you were the turning point in the creation of this novel."

"Your muse," I announce in a haughty tone, smirking slightly at him as he pushes himself back into a sitting position and reaches across me for the bag of Doritos. "Isn't that fitting? Me being a _muse_ for your Greek mythology novel?"

"I guess," he agrees offhandedly. "Now would you stop derailing and start listening," he teasingly berates as he pulls out a chip and holds it up, gesturing for me to open my mouth. I do and the Dorito bounces off my cheek.

"Thank god you're a writer not an athlete," I say seriously as I grab the chip and pop it in my mouth. "Your aim is abysmal."

"I'm a work in progress."

"Just like your novel," I quip and Harry's features bloom into a grin.

"That is the perfect segue!" he celebrates. "So, as I was _saying_ -" He gives me a pointed look and I mime zipping my lips shut. "-Edward has this instant connection to Tom, formerly William, and uh decides he wants to try to have something with him. They end up dating and uh... falling in, you know... love..." Harry's cheeks glow red as he trips over the l-word and he drops his gaze to the chip bag. "...and everything goes swimmingly."

"Swimmingly?" I echo incredulously, pretending the little stumble in the middle of his exposition didn't leave me a bit breathless, but Harry silences me with a playful swat.

"Swimmingly," he reiterates, regaining a bit of his steam. "But then Tom reveals to Edward that he isn't a normal teenager. He's the Greek Goddess Athena's son, sent to live on earth with his father until he comes of age, at which point he will be moved to Olympus to become a uh demigod."

I motion for Harry to pass me the chips and he does. 

"Sounds like things are about to get complicated," I prompt not because I'm actually _that_ invested in the five minute synopsis of his novel, but because I'm addicted to the stars in his eyes and the passion in the way his lips curl around his words. Even as he rambles and stutters, his energy right now is addicting.

"They do! Especially when Willia- Tom - finds out that Edward is his soulmate and that Cupid helped move things along by striking them with his arrows. The problem is that uh Tom is going to become a demigod and move to Olympus one day, right? So Edward won't be able to join him there. Cupid takes pity on them though because soulmates rarely ever actually find each other and he's a sucker for a good love story." Harry pauses and his eyebrows furrow as he presumably takes a moment to organize his thoughts. "So Cupid convinces Zeus to give them a series of trials. If they complete all the trials Edward will be given access to Olympus' lower slopes to live out his mortal life with Tom."

Harry blinks at me expectantly and I realize that he's finished his exposition.

"So my character is the demigod?" I confirm and Harry's dimples pop as he smiles at and me nods, almost shy.

"Cool. Do I get to read it before it's published?" I ask around a mouthful of chips and Harry fondly nudges my shoulder.

"Of course you do," he tells me as if that should have been obvious. "I actually moved passed the planning stages last night and have started really _writing_ it," he adds, completely buzzing.

"Can we have a celebratory makeout?" I inquire seriously and Harry rolls his eyes as his back goes ramrod straight and his cheeks flush a deep red. 

"You're a pervert."

"And you're unfairly hot," I counter as I tug at the hem of his shirt, silently asking if I can get rid of the damn thing. Harry pulls the shirt over his head and shuffles towards me, leaning in and taking my lips in a quick kiss. A nearly magnetic pull has my nails lightly scraping down his sides in an instant. The skin quivers under my fingers and I resist the urge to tickle him.

"No dry humping though," he says against my mouth, breath hot, "Ida hasn't been able to look me in the eye since she did my last load of laundry."

The solution to that particular problem has me groaning and taking his bottom lip between my teeth in a quick tug. "We can get you off in other ways," I whisper as heat starts to pool in my stomach at the memory of our little bathroom hookup this morning.

Harry's adams apple bobs around his thick swallow, but he shakes his head, curls brushing across my forehead - feather light. 

"That was amazing," he breathes, seeming to read my mind. "But I really like you and I want to keep things going slow and that was... good but... I think... I think if we did that again in a bed we'd end up going a lot further than we mean to..." he says in a ragged tone and I can't help the sexually frustrated sigh I release as I remind myself that this slow burn - this insane build up - this intensely erotic torture - will be worth it.

"Yeah, okay," I breathe as I lay back and pull him on top of me, hand smoothing over the warm soft skin on his back, "Topless making out it is."

\---

_Fireproof - One Direction_

Harry lounges on a moth-eaten couch and watches as Zayn, Liam, Niall and I rehearse for a small gig we'll be playing at a local coffee house. From my place behind the keyboard, I'm doing my very best to avoid looking at him. I'm still pissed that Niall invited him in the first place. Without telling me.

Fucking asshole.

I lean into the mic, singing the lowest harmony in the background "ahs" as Niall mindlessly winds through his solo, pulling silly faces at Harry and playing the guitar like this is some sick ACDC jam. Which it's not. I share a look with Zayn, plucking away at his bass and shaking his head in amusement. 

" _Yeah it's taking it's taking all I got_ ," Niall sings and then Liam's coming in, leaning into his mic and playing softly on the drum kit, brushes swiping and tapping out the laid back beachy rhythm.

" _Cause nobody knows you baby the way I do._ "

I glance at Harry and see his eyes widen when he hears Liam's voice for the first time. I smirk. The boys are all great singers and even if I'm not sure how much I actually deserve to sing in the band, I'm proud as fucking punch to share a stage with these boys. I live for those moments where one of them completely tears up a solo and has jaws dropping.

The chorus ends and I blink in surprise, freezing up as I realize I've missed the entrance to my solo - only noticing my mess up when I start to wonder why Liam, Niall, and Zayn are all staring at me. They loop the four bars leading into my verse and I blush, dropping my eyes to watch my hands move over the keys as I start to sing, mortified that Harry is hearing me.

" _I think I'm gonna win this time. Riding on a wind and I won't give up._ " My voice comes out smaller and raspier than normal. " _I think I'm gonna win this time. I roll and I roll 'til I change my luck. Yeah I roll and I roll til I change my luck._ "

I practically deflate with relief when Zayn comes in on the chorus and my cheeks feel so hot my eyes are tearing up. Harry is probably feeling so embarrassed right now to realize that his boyfriend is the worst singer in the group. I doubt he'll be coming to the shows and nudging every stranger to proudly announce that he's dating "the shit singer on keys".

I go into autopilot, singing my backup vocals and playing my part and absolutely refusing to look anywhere but at my fingers. When the song ends I hear an enthusiastic whoop from the couch and clapping and then suddenly there is a body attached to mine, spinning me around and catching my mouth in a heated kiss. Hands slide down my sides and firmly grasp my ass and I blink at the blinding grin on Harry's face.

"Holy shit, Lou," he breathes, mouth still inches from mine, and I'm really struggling to catch up with whatever has just happened.

"What?" I say dumbly and Harry rewards my stupidity with another kiss.

"Your voice!" he enthuses. "It's _gorgeous_. It just... Holy _shit_! Why didn't you ever tell me that you're such a phenomenal singer?" he demands through beaming lips. I vaguely register that Liam, Niall, and Zayn are all laughing but I ignore them, instead choosing to lean into Harry to catch another kiss because God his lips are delicious and they feel so perfect against mine.

Also, I don't really want to answer his question because I don't think there's an appropriate response. Clearly, Harry's fondness for me has rendered him deaf. Luckily, Harry is very easily distracted and quickly tangles himself up in my mouth.

"So good, Lou," he sighs against my lips as he grabs my hands in his own and interlocks our fingers. All I can hear is the sound of my heart pounding in my ears and I press closer to Harry, squeezing his hands and nudging his nose with mine.

"You're obligated to say that," I inform him, the corner of my mouth tilting up in a smirk. "You're my boyfriend."

He laughs and bumps our foreheads together and looks me in the eye. He's so close I feel like I'm going cross-eyed but I don't blink or look away.

"I'm not obligated to say anything," he says. "I'm an agent of the truth, Lou."

I'm about to laugh but the gesture is swallowed up by Harry as he leans in for another kiss and I could just melt into a fucking puddle of joy. He's so warm and his jumper is so soft where it brushes against my skin and he's that perfect height where I barely have to tilt my head to connect with him.

My mind vaguely thinks that he said something warranting a smart ass rebuttal but I can't seem to think clearly enough to sort out a witty response. I untangle my hands from his and grab onto his mass of curls, gripping the strands at the roots and gently tugging as I pull him closer - swipe my tongue along his lips and leave the kiss just long enough to take in his glazed dilated eyes and shiny red swollen lips. His breath is hot on my face and I grin like an idiot as I smother him in a barrage of quick teasing pecks, littering them over his face like little love letters.

I'm dimly aware of the boys catcalling us and laughing and I'm quite content to ignore them in favour of kissing Harry like an eager puppy (his light little giggle is all I want to hear for the rest of my life) but then a balled up piece of paper bounces off the side of my head.

I snap a look at Niall, who's hand is still raised in the follow through of his throw, and he doesn't look the least bit remorseful. In fact, he makes a gagging expression as he places his hands on his hips.

"I thought Liam and Zayn would be the most disgusting couple I've ever met but you two are determined to prove me wrong," he whinges, totally oblivious to the indignant exchange happening between Liam and Zayn behind him - well he's oblivious until Zayn punches him in the arm with a muttered, "No one will be more disgusting than us." 

Harry's arm slides around my waist and pulls my body into his as we watch the trio descend into a harmless bicker. I won't deny that I spend a quick moment worrying that the rehearsal has been too firmly sidetracked to actually accomplish anything more but after a quick debate, a bag of goldfish crackers, and a round of darts (that Niall wins) we make it back to the task at hand when Harry flops onto Liam's couch and yells that he wants to hear some more music.

By the time Liam's parents are calling for us to shut it down we're feeling confident for the show and I'm a lot less worried about being a complete embarrassment to Harry.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long! I've had midterms and just did a production of Rocky Horror that sort of consumed my free time! Thanks so much for reading, commenting, sharing, kudoing... everything! Much love and hopefully I will get the next chapter out in a more timely fashion xo


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Sing a song together!" someone that sounds suspiciously like Gemma shouts and the audience roars their approval at the suggestion. Louis' mic falls to his side and he looks at me curiously.
> 
> "Can you sing?" he asks me quietly and I cannot believe this is happening.
> 
> "He's really good!" Gemma shouts in response to the question that no one was supposed to hear and I find myself glowering out into the audience. 
> 
> Louis stares at me rather intensely and I tilt my head, silently asking him what he's thinking, and he ducks in close to whisper, "Sing Little Things with me, Haz?" and oh wow. I think I look like an owl my eyes go so wide at the request. I mean, I know the song. It's hands down my favourite but... I spin around and look to Niall, Liam, and Zayn for a trace of disapproval and see nothing but wolfish grins and encouraging nods. I swallow thickly and look back to Louis, who's all intense blue eyes and seriously tilted lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs:  
> Ready To Go - Republica  
> By The Lake - CloseTalker  
> Little Things - One Direction
> 
> Thank you a million times over to my lovely beta onedcupoftea!!

_Ready to Go - Republica_

Louis slams me against the wall and attaches his mouth to my neck, winding a trail of burning little nips leading down to the collar of my shirt. Insistent fingers push my blazer aside when it gets in the way and I suck in a breath as he drags his tongue, hot and damp, up over the marked skin.

"So..." I start, swallowing so hard it's audible as he begins blowing cool air over the line, "this is... oh _shit_ , Lou... the kitch--en." 

My breath hitches as he tugs my scoop neck lower, completely stretching it out, so he can get at my nipple. Oh wow, this is what I've been missing my whole life, I think as my hips buck reflexively when he teases the sensitive skin with a soft bite. If I wasn't painfully hard before I absolutely am now. Louis shifts, sliding his thigh between my legs and presses up and I have to bury my moan into my forearm, biting hard on the skin as I grind down on his leg - bursts of velvet pleasure curling in my stomach. I don't even know if I'm breathing. All I know is that Louis' teeth are tugging on my nipple and his breath is icy cool against the wet feverish pitch of my skin and that goosebumps are popping up on my arms like a plague.

"Lou," I whimper as he gently sucks and licks at the skin he just bit. I buck against his leg, hard and warm and feel his bulge against my hip and oh Lord, being with Louis without actually _being_ with Louis has been four weeks of the most intense torture of my life. Literally. Watching Louis jack off without reaching down to take over has been the ultimate test of my will power.

"It's a nice kitchen," Louis murmurs against my skin and I choke off a laugh. What an absolute liar. He hasn't taken a single look at the kitchen.

His hands are running down my sides, fingers curling around the hemline of my pants - not pulling - but gripping the fabric in a frustration that I can completely commiserate with.

"You're so perfect, Harry," he groans against my skin with a shudder and I don't even think about the fact that this is supposed to be a tour of my house - that we are standing right beside the fridge with raging boners and flushed cheeks and swollen lips and mussed hair and absolutely no semblance of calm - I just think about how horny I am and how much Louis' mere presence fills me up like a balloon.

The need for more more more sends me into a rash of movement and I grab his hands in an almost feverish rush and push them towards the button on my pants, popping it free and then tugging down the zipper. I feel so bold and dirty, especially when Louis sucks in a surprised breath and makes the tiniest whimper in the back of his throat like I've really shocked him. I want more sounds like that.

I can feel him staring down and I wonder if he can see how tense my body is as I wait for him to do something - I'm using every ounce of self-control I have to not start bucking my hips. And then his hand touches me through my briefs and I slam my head back against the wall so hard I see stars. Or maybe I see the stars because it's Louis' hand touching me. Louis' eyes watching me. Louis' fingers twitching, grazing over my dick - tracing it so tentatively that I'm nearly biting a hole through my bottom lip as my self-control wanes and my hips cant up and into the contact. 

Louis shivers and buries his face in my shoulder and I feel the waver of his hitching breath as his fingers continue to dance over me.

"Harry..." he croaks, his voice an unspoken question and I nod frantically, pushing my pants down and maybe I mean for it to happen when my briefs shift just that tiny bit to free the head of my cock, flushed and red and resting against my hip. 

Louis' face isn't buried against my shoulder anymore. He's pulled back and is staring down at his hand feathering over the outline of my mostly brief-covered cock in complete wonderment. He swallows so loud I hear it and I look at him and I feel so absolutely obscene with my chest rising and falling in a staggering beat and my lips bitten up and red by my own teeth and my shirt all stretched out and my blazer pushed off one shoulder and my pants dropped to my knees and the head of my dick poking out of my briefs, straining for more than skin to skin contact with Louis' hand.

"Harry?" he says again unsurely and his fingers are still flicking along the line of my boner and I start breathe out "Yes yes yes" as he continues, "Are you sure?"

"So sure, babe," I whine, bucking up into his hand and clenching my eyes shut at the increased pressure. Louis' breathing falters and then he's shoving his hand in my underwear, warm and silky and so strong wrapping around me and squeezing. He swipes his thumb over the head, catching the precum there, and I'm bracing myself with a death grip on his shoulders as my knees go weak. His fingers ghost over every inch of my cock - memorizing every little detail. His eyes are nothing but black and pupil and intensity as he watches me through the tussled fringe of his hair.

"This what you want, Harry?" he asks in a deep voice that I barely recognize as his and I push up into his hand with a broken "yes".

"Just this?" he continues and his eyes are so black that it sends my head spinning. It's a miracle I'm even able to hear him over the rushing blood in my ears and the sensation of my first ever handjob. My mouth goes dry as I realize what he's offering and I find myself shaking my head and putting a light pressure on his shoulders, pushing him down. He takes the cue and drops to his knees and I bite back an actual sob of joy as I think of his mouth around my cock - imagine my dick bumping against the back of his throat. His eyes are still on mine and his hand is still working me into a jagged mess of a person and his breath is so hot and damp over my underwear.

He smirks up at me. "You have to tell me exactly what you want," he instructs and my hips spasm against his hand at the firmness of his voice. How is it even _possible_ to be this wrecked before anything substantial has even happened?

"I want you to blow me," I stagger and his smirk widens into a pleased grin that has a coil of warmth curling in my stomach.

"Yeah, all right," he agrees amicably and lets go of my dick in a movement that has me keening out a disappointed protest that quickly dies when I realize he's pushing down my underwear. My dick pops free, falling against his cheek and I'm hissing, mouth moving around a stream of curses I wasn't even aware I know. I feel so exposed standing in the open kitchen with my pants and underwear bunched around my knees and my shirt stretched beyond repair and the hem of my blazer grazing over my bared ass.

Louis leans back and looks at my dick like it's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen, licking his lips as he groans, "Shit you're big," in torn up wonderment. I stare down at him, watch his eyes memorize every inch of my cock, and curl my fingers into his shoulders in an attempt to keep from thrusting my hips into his face. 

When he moves forward, he swerves his head to completely avoid my dick and lays a firm bite on my hip bone. I grunt as my hands move from his shoulder to his hair, tangling themselves in the soft locks as he begins sucking a bruise into my skin. It stings in a way that has my whole body twitching. When he finishes he pulls away and smiles as he stares at the glossy red mark that's already purpling. I can't take my eyes off him and watch him give the bruise a quick peck before he glances up at me, pretending not to notice my erection bobbing red and hard right beside his cheek.

"I like leaving marks on things that matter," he tells me and then turns his face and plants a gentle kiss on the side of my dick. 

I yelp a harsh, "Fuck!" and my fingers dig into his scalp as the kiss turns into a series of pecks that lead down my length until he's taking the head of my cock in his mouth, sucking hard on the sensitive skin and swiping his tongue along the slit. My knees buckle and I would slide down the wall until I'm flat on my ass if it wasn't for Louis' quick grip on my hips, thumbs pressing into my hipbones and holding me up. I'm banging my head back against the wall repeatedly with a series of "shit, Lou"s that just keep tumbling out of my mouth like feet racing down a hill.

He takes my entire length in his mouth and when I feel the back of his throat I gasp and have to clench my eyes shut and can't stop it when my hips buck forward. I actually _feel_ the vibration when he makes a tiny disapproving sound and I force my eyes open just long enough to see him looking up at me through thick eyelashes, cheeks sucked in, and my dick disappearing between his lips. 

I shudder and he starts bobbing his head and I'm not going to last - not when he's sucking my cock and looking up at me like that and running the flat of his tongue along the underside - not when fireworks are building in my stomach, matches striking the fuses and starting the inevitable countdown. I whimper and scramble with my hands around the fistfuls of hair I'm holding to like a lifeline. He hums around my length and the added sensation is too much.

"Lou, I'm gonna--" I try to pull him back but his grip on my hips tightens and he bottoms out on my dick, nose pressed into the smattering of curls at the base of my treasure trail as he gives a strong suck and swallows - his throat massaging the head of my cock and that's about all I can take. My orgasm hits me in a wave of twitching shudders that have me curling forward around Louis, crying out his name like a religious mantra as he swallows every last drop of our first real sexual interaction. Eventually he pulls back and my dick slides out of his mouth with a pop and falls spent, heavy, and wet against my thigh. Louis' eyes are rimmed with red and lined with moisture as he looks up at me with a self-satisfied smirk on his swollen lips.

His hands move around to my arse and begin gently massaging the skin as he lays a map of gentle kisses over my hips, giving extra attention to the darkening love bite forming on the jut of my hipbone.

"We need to tour your house more often," he says in a hoarse tone and I heave out a jagged breath as I realize why his voice is so wrecked.

"C'mere," I murmur, tugging on his hair and Louis stands on shaky legs and lifts his chin to meet my kiss. He swipes his tongue, salty and bitter with my cum and stained with the lingering taste of a cigarette, into my mouth and I suck on it - suck on the desperate way he moans and ruts against my naked hip with his still denim-covered boner.

"That was unreal," I tell him, tone hushed and intimate. "Can I return the favour?" I ask and he practically humps my leg at the suggestion. We break into a shared moan that passes between our mouths like a secret and I wince when the denim of his jeans grazes against my spent dick.

"Maybe we can christen another room?" he suggests, voice still splintered and croaky. The grin he gives me can only be described as lascivious as he slides down my body just enough to grab my underwear and start pulling them up.

"What on good God's earth is happening here?" a heavily accented voice demands shrilly from the kitchen entrance and Louis has my briefs up and over my cock and ass in a heartbeat - which is something I have completely lost as I look past Louis to see Ida's furious expression. I don't even know what to say. I have literally been caught with my pants around my knees by the woman that practically raised me.

"Ida," I squeak as Louis - bless him - leans down and quickly pulls my pants up as well so that I'm not stuck having this conversation in nothing but my gotch. I hurry to do my jeans up with clumsy shaking fingers that have become completely bereft of dexterity as Ida makes her way over. It shouldn't be possible for a woman this squat and warm to be so imposing but she manages and it is extremely effective. I doubt my face has any colour left in it.

Louis turns around and he and Ida both see each other for the first time and this is _not_ the way I imagined the potential love of my life meeting the woman that tended to my first scraped knee and made my first birthday cake and held my hand on my first day of preschool and sat in the front row of every Christmas concert I'd ever performed in - regardless of whether I was an unnamed elf or Scrooge himself.

Ida's eyes are veritable thunderstorms as she stares up at Louis. She barely comes up to his shoulder but that doesn't make her any less intimidating. 

"I ask what is going on," Ida barks and I flinch, unconsciously groping for Louis' hand and squeezing it tight when I find it. He squeezes back and moves into my side until we're flush against each other from our shoulders down to our ankles.

"We were--" I cut myself off and avert my eyes, cheeks heating. "This is my boyfriend, Louis," I say so quietly I'm not even sure I've actually said the words - I may have just mouthed them. 

I don't look up when she says nothing - lets a heavy silence suffocate the air. I'm not sure I have it in me to meet her eye and see how she's taking the knowledge that I'm into men. Ida's so old fashioned and I wanted to tell her on my own terms... So badly that I went to extreme measures to make sure no one ever told her _why_ we had suddenly packed up and left Montreal in the middle of September as if it was all routine and normal for an established family to completely uproot themselves - especially in the middle of a semester when no refunds were offered and the children of that family were in one of the most prestigious private schools in the province.

"What would have happened if your father walked in and not me?" she finally demands and I'm startled into looking at her. She's furious - I can see that very clearly - but she also looks almost... worried. I frown.

"I-- He wouldn't... He's never home," I tell her lamely and she shakes her head, spitting out a string of Russian curses that I don't understand but make me flinch all the same. I assume they translate to something along the lines of "You are a complete and total knobhead, Harry Styles." 

Louis is tense, drawn taut as a bowstring beside me and I tighten my fingers around his hand, trying to exude some modicum of calm.

"You don't know for sure that he not on way home right now!" she scolds brashly, waving her stubby pointer finger in my face, and I shrink into Louis' side - calm demeanour be damned. I haven't had a verbal lashing from Ida in _years_. "You don't know for sure anything with that man. Including what he would do if he were one walking in here instead of me." She finishes with a sharp nod and an expression that dares me to disagree.

I don't rise to the bait and instead mutely nod my head.

We watch each other and it becomes clear that Ida has no interest in saying anything further. She's progressed to the worst part of her discipline regime: staring me down with cold unforgiving eyes. It strikes me that she could blow the whistle on this whole thing to my father.

"You're not going to tell him?" I ask in a small voice, suddenly terrified at the idea of my father finding out about Louis and I. This is a bit different from the scandal that sent us running to Toronto but... I never actually figured out if his problem was the actual _person_ I was with or if it all boiled down to the fact that I was with a man.

Ida's eyes soften and she shakes her head, muttering to herself in Russian before clapping my cheeks between her hands and rising onto her toes to kiss my forehead.

"If this is person you said makes you happy then I am happy for you, Harry," she tells me and I think I actually glow under the validation but then she's smacking the back of my head and adding, "But don't you ever get sexy in my kitchen again!" and Louis' howling with laughter so frantically that I think he's actually just reacting to the break in tension. I rub the spot she hit and whine at Ida that she hits too hard.

"Next time I use wooden spoon," she threatens and then ushers both Louis and I to the island with cracked hands and a no nonsense expression pursing her thin lips.

We end up not getting around to christening any other rooms and instead spend the evening in the kitchen helping Ida whip up a batch of homemade pierogis. Her and Louis become thick as thieves when they both realize how much fun it is to team up with each other with the purpose of picking on me and I don't bother complaining. 

Louis instigates a flour fight and in return Ida tells him all her secrets to the perfect pierogi - secrets she'd sworn to me would go to her grave with her - and I don't even feel a flash of jealousy - just overwhelming fondness at the way Louis enchants her with his wit and mischief. It ends up being probably one of the best nights of my life considering how chaotic it had gotten for a moment there, and when Louis leaves - fringe still dusted white with flour - I almost tell him that I'm falling in love with him.

Almost.

\---

_By The Lake - Close Talker_

Lottie and I linger at the back of the coffee house, both nursing our lattes and continuously glancing towards the stage. The sound man is busy following the trail of a cord to its origin and the warm pot lights illuminate him in a golden haze. My mouth is completely dry and, between obsessively checking the stage (for Louis) and my phone (for word from Gemma), I'm possibly the worst company Lottie's ever kept.

"They'll go up when they go up," she reminds me for the nth time and takes a sip of her drink, eyes sliding towards the group of randoms that stroll through the door, adding to the already impressive crowd. I knew the boys were good from the handful of rehearsals I was invited to attend but I had no idea they actually had a following. People are wearing One Direction shirts and a guy has a shirt that says "One Direction is pop as fuck" in a speech bubble being said by a stick man with a sunglasses emoji face and it makes me smile because I _know_ that that one was Louis' doing.

"I love your shirt," I say to the guy as he passes us and he grins, looking down at it and fluffing up with pride. He's a scruffy guy - long messy hair, a beard, ragged jeans, and chucks with a hole blown through the side. 

"I'm one of like five people that got one," he tells me, pushing a strand of hair off his face. "They threw them out into the crowd at one of their first shows a few years ago."

Lottie lights up. "That was such a deadly show!" she enthuses. "Do you remember how there was an outlet on the ceiling and Louis plugged his charger into it and his phone just dangled from the ceiling the whole set and kept knocking him in the head?"

The guy bursts out laughing and I find myself joining in, not at all surprised but still wildly entertained by the imagery of it.

"Those guys do the most ridiculous shit in their shows," he agrees, sounding mildly awed, and I have to take a moment to wonder what I'm in for. My first One Direction show... No part of me doubts that Louis will be out on a mission to make the night particularly memorable tonight... for me.

"Yeah," Lottie agrees. "It's probably going to be on another level tonight. This is Louis' boyfriend and it's his first show so." She leaves the sentence unfinished and the guy brightens.

"Good to hear," he tells her and holds out a hand to me, which I shake happily enough., "Enjoy it, yeah?" he says as a parting and then is off to a table of people waving him over.

As he walks away, Lottie leans into me and quietly informs me, "That's Forest Punk."

My eyes widen and I ask the obvious question. "What?"

"I don't know," she says, giggling over the rim of her mug as she takes a sip of her latte. "That's just what everyone calls him. He drums in a punk band and apparently lived in the wilderness last summer."

"What wilderness?" I ask incredulously, staring after the guy with a grin. He slides into a booth and my jaw drops a little at the absolute absurdity of it. I'm also a little bit jealous that I wasn't the person to come up with the nickname "Forest Punk". It's absolutely _genius_!

"I don't know," Lottie laughs. "I didn't start the rumour," she informs me as Forest Punk pulls his mass of tangled hair back into a ponytail and starts laughing at something one of his friends said. I grin, lopsided and goofy.

"That's a phenomenal nickname," I tell Lottie, awed, and then look over at her just in time to catch her dramatic eye roll.

"You are an even bigger dork than Louis says," she criticizes before taking another sip of her coffee, giving me a pointed look through the veil of her thick eyelashes that has me blushing and scratching the back of my neck. It's not necessarily _surprising_ that Louis talks about me with Lottie - she did introduce us after all - but it still sends a warm fuzzy feeling rushing through my belly.

"Oh god," she moans around a restrained smile. "Don't dork out on me about how Louis can't shut up about you." She smiles coyly and I know _exactly_ what she's up to. She is trying to make me melt into a complete puddle of fondness.

She absolutely succeeds.

I bury my face in my mug and chug back half the drink as my cheeks pull into a wide grin completely of their own accord. He can't shut up about me. 

He _can't_ shut up about me.

He can't shut up about _me_!

I avoid Lottie's judgemental gaze as I lower my mug and glance at the stage again, praying for the boys to come on because I need the lights to dim so this stupid smile that isn't leaving my face any time soon won't be so unabashedly _obvious_. I'm probably as red as a summer sunset - I feel as hot as one too - my cheeks are completely aflame. It's a bit of a lovely feeling if I'm being honest and I find myself sincerely hoping that I make Louis feel even half this giddy and joyful.

As if someone is privy to my innermost thoughts, the lights dim and people start gathering in front of the stage. My heart catches and Lottie's hand falls warm and heavy on the crook of my elbow. Louis saunters onstage wearing a plain white tee, worn denim jacket, and black skinny jeans with his usual vans. He's an absolute sight with his fringe tussled up and pushed to the side and his stubble and his crinkled eyes - scanning the audience. I find myself holding my breath as he searches the crowd... and then he finds me and winks and I actually squeak. The rush of adrenaline and attraction and disbelief that someone so perfect exists that crashes over me is strangely reminiscent of my childhood wonderment over Leonardo DiCaprio.

I make a mental note to tell Louis that he's my Leo. He'll _love_ that.

I know there's a whole band on stage with Louis but as their opening song cuts through the cheers of the crowd I become convinced that the only person that actually exists is Louis William Tomlinson. My fingers itch to pen down the way he glows under the pot lights like a firefly and the way he sways to the music like a field of grass sways to the tune of a summer breeze. I can't see his eyes clearly from where I'm standing but I know that they're as soft and cool as a watercolour of a winter day - blotted with intensity and serenity in varying shades.

They're starting with a cover of Teenage Dirtbag and it's amazing. It's almost spiritual, I think as Louis' eyes follow me like a spotlight, lighting me up and making me glow. I vaguely notice shuffling and chaos in my general vicinity but I don't pay any attention to it until an arm is thrown over my shoulders and a wet sloppy kiss is planted on my cheek. I pull away, frowning and preparing to set someone straight (as politely as possible, of course) when I realize that my assailant is Gemma.

"Gems," I shout over the music, surprised, and she grins warmly at me, dimples poking her cheeks. 

"Sorry I'm late," she yells back, focus shifting to the stage as Louis starts a solo. I've heard him sing a few times now - attended a handful of band practices - but it still leaves me reeling how delicate and emotive his voice is. When he sings he reveals a part of himself that is usually protected under lock and key - lets the world in on the secret that he isn't just a mischievous flirt with a bad attitude and a wardrobe to match.

His solo ends and I feel Gemma's eyes on me. When I look back at her I don't even bother trying to close off my expression. I meet her gaze - so proud - and say, "That's my boyfriend," all smug with wonderment and she laughs, patting my arm as she loudly replies, "Yes he is."

The show passes in a bit of a blur. Gemma and Lottie figure their way around introductions without my assistance and seem to figure out quite quickly that I'd rather they don't interrupt me while Louis is on stage.

He's a firecracker up there and I just want to make a sign that says "That's my baby" and wave it around so that every person in the crowd eyeing Louis' lips and thighs and fringe and sockless ankles knows that he's taken. I laugh with everyone else when he gets bored during a song with no keys and wanders over to Zayn, coming up behind him and wrapping his arms around Zayn's slender figure to play his bass for him. I have to repeatedly remind myself that Zayn and Liam are very much in love and that there is no reason for me to stomp up there and tear Louis off of Zayn.

At one point, Louis jams so hard that he unbalances the keyboard stand and the whole setup goes crashing to the ground. So, rather than fixing it, Louis begins loudly singing the part he's meant to be playing and Niall completely loses it, cackling like he's never seen something so funny in his life. When the crowd erupts into a series of hoots and cheers, Louis puffs up with pride and makes a point of thanking everyone for their support and finally sets about reassembling his setup. The song they're playing ends and an awkward silence settles over the quartet while they wait for Louis.

"Harry, come up here," he calls out as he struggles with the screws on the stand and I go completely still. 

"Haaarry," he says again, straightening and shading his eyes against the stage lights to look directly at me, a shit eating grin on his face. "Get your pert little arse up here," he demands and the audience erupts into laughter. I quickly and decisively come to the conclusion that I am _not_ going on the stage but then Lottie intervenes and pushes me forward - shoves me into the crowd that is far too complicit in making a clear path for me.

"While I have some stern words with this fucking stand," Louis announces casually, still struggling with said fucking stand, "My good friend and boyfriend Harry Styles is going to treat you all to some jokes."

Lottie has me halfway up the stairs to the stage by this point and I stop dead in my tracks. "No way," I say to her but I'm close enough for Louis to hear and his head snaps in my direction and his eyes twinkle at me.

"C'mon Haz," he says fondly and I have to grab onto the railing to keep from falling over at the new nickname. He grins at me like he's a toothpaste model and waggles his eyebrows and Lottie takes control of the situation by pushing me up onto the stage, which apparently deserves a roar of approval from the audience.

I flush and wave awkwardly at the sea of people that are not here to see me. Niall is in front of me in a second, holding out his mic for me and fighting back what is surely an obnoxious cackle. He doesn't say anything, just looks at me with an expression of pure amusement as I take the mic from his hand.

"Uh... Hello, I'm Harry," I say awkwardly and hear Louis bark out a laugh. I throw him a harmless glare and see that the keyboard is nearly set up - Thank God. "As we all heard, I'm supposed to be throwing down some jokes but... uh... I'm not sure anyone will pick them up."

I struggle not to smirk even as it becomes apparent that no one has even realized I just made a joke... Louis groans and stands, giving the keyboard a precautionary press to see if it will stay upright this time around, then comes over to me and bumps my hip with his own.

"That was right shit, babe," he informs me and I'm not even angry that he's calling my jokes crap in front of a room full of people because he also called me _babe_ in front of that roomful of people. I wonder if my lovesick puppy feelings are disgustingly obvious or if I'm being discreet.

"Sing a song together!" someone that sounds suspiciously like Gemma shouts and the audience roars their approval at the suggestion. Louis' mic falls to his side and he looks at me curiously.

"Can you sing?" he asks me quietly and I cannot believe this is happening.

"He's really good!" Gemma shouts in response to the question that no one was supposed to hear and I find myself glowering out into the audience. 

[ _Little Things - One Direction_ ]

Louis stares at me rather intensely and I tilt my head, silently asking him what he's thinking, and he ducks in close to whisper, "Sing Little Things with me, Haz?" and oh wow. I think I look like an owl my eyes go so wide at the request. I mean, I know the song. It's hands down my favourite but... I spin around and look to Niall, Liam, and Zayn for a trace of disapproval and see nothing but wolfish grins and encouraging nods. I swallow thickly and look back to Louis, who's all intense blue eyes and seriously tilted lips.

The crowd starts chanting my name... a voice that sounds curiously like Lottie's leading the pack... and I don't really have a choice but to shrug and say, "Okay," in a weak tone that belies the sudden nerves buzzing just beneath my skin.

"Wanna split the verses in two? I'll sing the first each time and you can take the second and then we can just sing the rest together?" he asks as Niall starts plucking out the intro to the song and I feel a rush of panic.

"All right," I say and swallow thickly as my mind races through the lyrics, snagging on the impending "I'm in love with you". The intro ends and Louis takes a breath, smiling at me softly as he begins to sing.

" _Your hand fits in mine like it's made just for me but bear this in mind: it was meant to be. And I'm joining up the dots with the freckles on your cheeks and it all makes sense to me._ "

There's barely a moment between the end of his solo and the beginning of mine, I think as I bring the mic to my mouth, acutely aware of the fact that Louis hasn't ever heard me sing before. I take a breath and he smiles at me encouragingly and winks.

" _I know you've never loved the crinkles by your eyes when you smile._ " My voice is tentative as I stare at the telltale crow's feet around Louis' eyes that make my heart flutter. " _You've never loved your stomach or your thighs._ " I watch Louis' eyes widen as my voice grows stronger and hear Niall's fingers stutter over the strings momentarily and I tilt my head, a bit shy because I know I'm a good singer but... It doesn't matter if I think I'm good if Louis doesn't feel the same. I can't read the expression on his face - it's just open eyes and parted lips and flushed cheeks.

" _The dimples in your back at the bottom of your spine but I'll love them endlessly._ "

Liam jumps in to add the harmony line but I barely notice it, focused as I am on trying to gauge Louis' feelings from the strangely mute expression on his face. Still giving me no indication of his thoughts, Louis gives me a little nod, indicating that he wants me to take the lead on the chorus. 

Breathe, Harry, I think to myself as I begin to worry that he doesn't like my voice and is trying to hide that revelation from me to spare my feelings.

" _I won't let these little things slip out of my mouth but if I do, it's you. Oh it's you they add up to. I'm in love with you._ " I can't help the way my voice catches on the lyric because it isn't just a lyric and I never imagined the first time I would say it to him would be in front of a room full of strangers. " _And all these little things._ "

But that seems to do it - seems to crack the veneer hiding Louis' thoughts from me. There's a quick guitar line before Louis' verse and in that moment he offers me a delicate smile, reaching out to brush his hand over mine and I wonder if he knows that I really am in love with all his little things.

" _You can't go to bed without a cup of tea and maybe that's the reason that you talk in your sleep._ " His little smile grows into something adorable and toothy. " _And all those conversations are the secrets that I keep though it makes no sense to me,_ " he sings, voice so gentle and raspy and I find myself wondering what Louis would tell me in his sleep - wonder what secrets would come from the late hours of the night.

" _I know you've never loved the sound of your voice on tape. You never want to know how much you weigh. You still have to squeeze into your jeans but you're perfect to me._ " My gaze drifts to his thighs, thick and flawless and he shifts uncomfortably and I wonder for the first time what Louis thinks about his body - never realized before this moment that he might not see it the way I do: absolutely perfect exactly the way it is.

" _I won't let these little things slip out of my mouth,_ " Louis comes in and I hold back a nervous laugh as it occurs to me that we just _had_ to sing _this_ song. We couldn't have done a duet of Change Your Ticket or Best Song Ever. 

" _But if it's true - it's you. It's you they add up to._ " Louis' expression changes, becomes oddly solemn - sincere - and of course we're singing the song with the words...

" _I'm in love with you,_ " he continues, voice coming out no louder than a hoarse whisper. And that has my throat closing up as he finishes, " _and all these little things,_ " on little more than a breath.

Somehow Niall seems to instinctively know that neither of us is about to take the bridge and he jumps in. " _You'll never love yourself half as much as I love you And you'll never treat yourself right darling but I want you to._ "

Louis and I stare at each other and I think the shocked expression on his face is probably a mirror image of my own expression. I raise my free hand and shake out my fringe, nervously swiping it to the side and looking at Louis timidly. His eyes crinkle and he mouths, "it looks fine," to me and we both bite down a tiny giggle brought on by nerves more than anything.

" _If I let you know I'm here for you. Maybe you'll love yourself like I love you._ "

The guitar line pauses and Louis whispers, "You sing," and I draw in a shaky breath.

" _And I've just let these little things slip out of my mouth. Cause it's you, oh it's you. It's you they add up to. And I'm in love with you and all these little things._ " I end the phrase and go right back into it, only this time Louis joins me and I have to marvel at how it feels to sing with him - how our voices fit together like they're meant to be...

" _I won't let these little things slip out of my mouth. But if it's true it's you. It's you they add up to._ " Louis blushes and I can't look away from him as we both sing, " _I'm in love with you and all your little things,_ " in unison and then Niall's strumming the last chord and Lottie's yelling, "Oh my god, kiss for fuck's sake!" and the crowd is laughing and cheering and I can't even feel my body - it's like I've floated out of it, I'm so taken over by the surreality of the moment.

But Louis' smiling so big and when he murmurs, "We best give the people what they want," I can't help but reach out and grab his shoulders - clinging to him like I never want to let him go - and we come together for the longest most chaste kiss anyone has ever experienced ever. I can _feel_ his smile against my mouth and his hands are tied up in the shirt under my blazer and I want to beg him to skip the rest of the show and disappear with me because all I want right now is him.

I want to hold him. I want to kiss him. I want to tell him secrets about myself that no one but Gemma knows. I want to hear the secrets he doesn't share with anyone too.

...

I want to say it again, only without a room full of people watching with baited breath. 

I really _really_ want to say it and have him know that I mean it. I don't care that we've only known each other a little over a month. I don't care that by all standards it's far too soon to know such a thing.

All I care about is that I need to say it again.

When Louis pulls back from the kiss, I'm left stupidly standing with my eyes closed and lips puckered against the air and when I realize that it's ended I open my eyes to see Louis laughing. His hands curve around my sides and squeeze and he gestures towards the door at the back of the stage with his head.

Liam has started talking to the audience but I haven't a clue what he's saying - all I know is that I'm thankful he's speaking at all.

"Yeah?" I ask Louis quietly, eyes searching his, trying to figure out if he's feeling as light and reckless as I am.

"There's only Best Song Ever left," he says quietly - confidently. "The lads can cover me for that one."

"Can we just leave without saying something?" I ask - beg even -, suddenly aware of the people in the audience and too self-conscious to look at them. He shrugs, not looking at them either and I'm suspicious that the normally unflappable Louis Tomlinson may be experiencing some nerves of his own. 

"Fuck 'em," he says resolutely and his hands slide from my waist so he can take my hand and he drags me to the door. The reaction is _deafening_. The crowd loses their goddamn marbles. I'm fairly certain I'll never stop blushing for as long as I live.

Probably won't stop smiling either though so.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeeey :) So hope you all enjoyed this chapter. I won't lie, I had a lot of fun indulging in the fluff at the end of this chapter. Sorry for how long the update took. Been busy with jobs, finals, and having to find a new apt. Buckets of thank yous to the readers, commenters, kudoers, and anyone sharing this fic. I really hope you guys are enjoying it! Feel free to hmu on tumblr - I'm naturallypxnk. Anyways, happy holidays everyone and good luck to anyone reading that still has any finals to finish!!


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